


Thank you, Elvis

by Jayj456



Series: Thank you, Elvis [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description, Graphic Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Psychological Trauma, Rough Sex, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, Universe Alteration, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayj456/pseuds/Jayj456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That night he found Daryl walking down the bleak streets he knew exactly what he was doing. Watching him in the interrogation room, his eyes coveting the way that cigarette easily slid between his lips. </p><p>He knew what Daryl’s night time occupation was—he’s always known. </p><p>Rick wasn’t a cop for nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shine on Benevolent Sun

_~*~_

_Thank You, Elvis_

~*~

It starts as a clusterfuck and ultimately ends that way.

There’s no clear beginning of course, like all things beautifully and tragically headed for destruction. There is however a random and opaque series of events. They twist and turn, uniting and parting until Rick is intertwined with the person who is seemingly the catalyst for said clusterfuck.

If he was being honest with himself (which he rarely is these days because self-deception comes so easily) he would recognize that although events were precipitated he is at fault for being at the centre.  Perhaps it all began when curiosity became an insatiable need, a throbbing sort of gaping mouth sore that he couldn’t stop tonguing. Even when the sore split open and bled he continue to lick and probe at the wound.

Being only human made him susceptible to dark desires.

In Byromville Georgia, where the land was vast and the people still believed in southern hospitality there lay a more corrupt side. If he were to figuratively flip a coin, the head would resemble all that is good and clean about Byromville.

The town was small, barely over four hundred people who live there, counting the farmers that resided past the interstate. A community with law abiding citizens and if he stepped outside his door there is without a doubt he’d know everybody on his street. They held annual county fairs, fund raisers for the children hosted by the Mayor Herschel Greene and his blessed family. On occasion father Gabriel would have events at the church where everyone in town would bring food and celebrate the word of God.

It was a spectacle, one that he begrudgingly attended. 

At the ripe age of sixteen he married the prettiest gal in town, Lori Grimes, fathered two children who he loved dearly. Last year he was named Police Commissioner and it was the proudest day of his life.

His dull, lackluster, simple life.

Turn the coin around and the tail would represent the corrupt side of town. A side Rick rarely saw because ideally there wasn’t one—not really.

Sure they had some crime but it was rare, infrequent and usually ended with a slap on the wrist or a few nights spent in the drunk tank.

Truthfully the coin didn’t represent Byromville at all.

At first glance Rick was everything a model husband should be, he was a good father, he provided for his family and yet a sickness brewed inside him. The proverbial wisdom which he seldom took and almost constantly ignored would have most likely saved him the eventual heartache.

He always considered himself a practical man, pragmatic with years of experience on the police force to grant him the knowledge of how to read people.

The law was in his blood, he upheld it no matter what the cost often rationalizing that if he didn’t society would erupt into chaos and anarchy, all that sort of nonsense. After all there was no way a lawless society could be functional.

If Rick was the sort of individual who believed in nihilism he wouldn’t be in the situation he is in right now. Yet, here he is. A wolf responding to the call of the wild and in the deepest part of the forest he found out exactly what terrors lurked.

_Everything happened so fast_ , he’ll recall in that bittersweet drawl.

One minute he’s a happily married man, hopelessly devoted to his boring life. The next he’s balls deep in an underage boy feeling more exhilarated than he has in years.

_Yeah, how’s that for feeling animalistic?_

~

It’s all about a _boy_.

Not just any kind of boy. Not someone of social status or unforgettable features, not a boy that throws tantrums or is the sort to excel at everything.

Rick would also bet that he isn’t particularly athletic nor is he quick when it comes to arithmetic. However, he isn’t ordinary.  In retrospect, there’s absolutely nothing ordinary about him. For one thing his attitude is foul, so much so that half the guys in office cringe visibly whenever he opens his mouth.

Secondly, he’s clearly rough around the edges with a boorish attitude that does nothing to inspire Rick that the youth of today will amount to much in the world. 

It’s blatant the kid smokes too much; drinks too much, swears too much—hell he does everything he shouldn’t do in abundance.

Rick even spots a couple of tattoo peeking out from underneath his shirt and immediately he’s repulsed. _How old is he anyway?_

The kid takes out a packet of smokes, slides one between his thin lips, titling his chin up exposing that beauty mark in a way that makes Rick _feel_ things.

“I don’t know shit.” Daryl exhales, blowing the smoke into his face.

There was murder in town.

Unexplained, random and causing a panic amongst the people. Dale Horvath was found dead in his trailer almost a week ago. Rick had known him personally; he was kind gentle widower who owned a tire shop on Almond Street.

They interview everyone surrounding the area and in town. Nobody has seen or heard anything.

Usually Rick wouldn’t get involved, he’d leave it up to Shane and the rest of the guys on the force but Dale was a good man. One that Rick knew didn’t deserve to die in the way that he did, beaten and vigorously stabbed to death, drowning in his own blood for hours.

Shane is furious, bracing his hands against the interrogation desk and glaring at the boy in front of them. The muscles in his arms flex and his jaw visibly tightens. “Now see—” He drawls angrily. “I don’ believe that fer one second. We all know Merle ain’t the kind of person to let a grudge like that go. It’s well known ‘round these parts that he’s always had a problem with Dale after he fired him.”

“Two years ago,” Daryl deadpans.

Shane huffs looking like he might actually spit fire at Daryl for telling the truth. In all honestly Rick knows they’ve got nothing. No murder weapon, no motive, they are grasping at straws and bringing Daryl in wasn’t going to prove a damn thing.

Merle left town six months ago, took off somewhere North and hasn’t look back since leaving the youngest Dixon with an estranged uncle.

Daryl’s judging them with a look of superiority.

Adjusting his stance he tries something different. “Did you know Dale personally?”

He doesn’t answer right away, Rick realizes that it may have come off as a dumb question but he needs Daryl to take the bait. There’s a beat of silence in the room, where Daryl stares at him, those cat like eyes slant with suspicion and he knows it’s going to take a lot more than a few questions to get Daryl to talk.

“Nah,” He says and stubs out his cigarette on the table. “Are we done _officers_?” He rolls the word mockingly before standing to his feet.

Rick jerks a nod, the door opens and Daryl struts right out of the room.

“Damn kid,” Shane seethes. “A fuckin’ menace if ya asked me. What’re ya thinkin’?”

“He knows somethin’,” Rick replies, mulling over the conversation. “My instincts are tellin’ me he knows somethin’….but we can’t talk to him again without a lawyer present next time. Even if he is a menace he’s still underage. Fuck.” He sighs.

“It was a mistake to bring him in the first place,” Shane says.

“He lives in the area and since his uncle wasn’t home it made sense. He came willingly so we haven’t done anythin’ wrong besides ask a few questions.”

“Whatever you say brother,” Shane responds, hanging his head slightly.

“Let’s get back to the briefin’ room. I want a list of people who were customers at Dale’s shop on my desk in a few hours. That might help us narrow down or search for suspects that might have had somethin’ against him.”

“Sure thang,” Shane nods, gathering the folders on the desk and walking out of the room.

It’s after nine o’clock when everyone calls it quits. The briefing room was jam packed with everyone on the force researching information on Dale’s personal life and his shop. Unfortunately they didn’t find much on him other than the fact that he was under paying serval of his employees but that wasn’t motive enough to cause them to want to murder him.

Rick returns home, exhausted and defeated. He can already tell that some people are already loosing hope there simply isn’t enough evidence to tie anyone directly to the murder.

When he arrives home Lori smiles up at him radiantly from the couch, her hair is pinned up in a messy bun, little tendrils falling to frame her face and she’s cradling a sleeping Carl in her lap.

“Hey,” She breathes and he can’t help but kiss her cheek. “How was your day?”

Rick shrugs, nestling down beside her and placing Carl’s feet in his lap. “Could’ve been better... you?”

“Not bad,” She grins. “It seems like our little bean is worn out waiting up for you. He wanted you to see the picture he drew in class today.” She reaches over to the coffee table and hands it to him.

Rick chuckles, tracing the crayon stick figures with his hand. “He drew this?”

“Sure did,” Lori beams.

“My boy,” Rick pats his feet fondly staring longer at the picture. “Judith?”

“Out cold…hey, umm you hungry?” She says softly. “I can warm up some leftovers.”

Shaking his head he places the picture down and turns to gaze at her. Without uncertainty he’s married the most beautiful woman alive. He couldn’t help but let his eyes follow the column of her long neck, endless smooth skin that was barely concealed by her loose fitting shirt. He grabs her hand, bringing it suggestively to his lips leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Not for food.”

A few seconds later he hauls Carl over his shoulder, wincing when he realized how heavy his son has gotten in a matter of weeks. When his boy is safely tucked in he retires to the bedroom, laughing when he sees Lori already on the bed staring at him like a devious kitten. He tackles her, both of them laughing hysterically while struggling to rid themselves of their clothes.

Rick is not hungry, he’s ravenous.

~

A snip of string is all it takes to unravel.

Sending black beads flying; scattering wayward and rolling into the abyss, like an idiot of course he searches for each missing beads, even though there are millions of them. Tiny, insignificant black beads that are useless individually, however all of them combined paint a bigger picture.

Nearly a month and they’ve found absolutely nothing.

No leads, no witnesses, with nothing but dead ends to show for it.

Rick sits at his expensive desk sipping his coffee going over the notes again. In all of his reports everybody had a kind word to say about Dale, even the people he was stealing from.

It just didn’t make sense.

If Dale was such a good upstanding citizen then why did somebody kill him? Why did somebody want him dead?

There was something Rick wasn’t seeing. He grabbed the list of names of people who had been customers of Dale’s in the past, they were all citizens and he knew most of them personally.

Perhaps he got into a fight over payments? No, that couldn’t be it everyone he spoke to said that Dale had been fair in his dealings. Maybe it was over parts being delivered?

A sharp knock on the door brought him out of his musing. “It’s open.”

“Ready for lunch?” Shane asked poking his head inside.

“Just ‘bout,” Rick replies, putting the papers away in the folder but standing to his feet. They exit the station together and head to their usual diner.

“Lord, ya’ll better not be in here to raise hell,” Maggie greets them at their table.

Shane snorts, leaning back in the booth gazing at her appreciatively. “Ah well, girl. We ain’t been in here for more than five seconds before yer already badgerin’ us.”

“Whatever,” Maggie scoffs. “What did you do soak in yer perfume? Christ, can’t ya stop trying to get laid for one day?”

“Nope,” Shane replies. “There’d be riots in the streets if I did.”

“How do you put up with him?” Maggie addressed Rick rolling her eyes.

“Easy,” Rick says. “We draw a red circle on his head and use him for target practice.”

Throwing her head back, Maggie belts out a laugh while Shane glares at him. “What’ll it be boys?”

They come here almost every day at twelve oh five on the dot. They sit in the same booth and pick from the same menu while Maggie hovers over them laughing and spewing insults while asking the same questions.

Sometimes if it’s a day like today, where he’s in a good mood he’ll make conversation, ask about Hershel and the family. Sometimes he wishes he could say something different, like comment on how gorgeous she looks and how he wouldn’t mind shoving his cock between her tits. It would be worth it to see the look of shock on her face. Instead he smiles politely and orders his usual.

“Man, I don’t know what the fuck’s been up with you lately,” Shane says immediately after she leaves. “This case is a dead end we should just drop it already. Shit, the trails already gone cold.”

Rick sighs deeply. “I can’t—my gut says—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane waves his hand dismissively. “I get it man, I really do but we’re wastin’ all our resources chasin’ a ghost. Whoever it is wouldn’t stick ‘round here long enough to get caught.”

“True,” Rick resigns. “Still….”

“Get yer fuckin’ hands off me!” Someone barks from across the room, causing Rick to pause in midsentence. From their booth he angles his head to see over the people’s heads in the restaurant. At the centre of a quarrel is Daryl Dixon, his face twisted in fury as he shoves an older man away from him. “Don’t ya ever fuckin’ touch me again.”

Rick and Shane are already on their feet, calmly walking towards the storm. “What seems to be the problem here?” Shane asks first, hands on his belt eyeing Dixon and from closer inspection his uncle Joe.

There’s always been something about Joe that set Rick off. Whether it was the man’s leering smile or unsettling way with words but whatever it was Rick didn’t trust him.

“Nah,” Joe says, sending a warning glare in Daryl’s direction. “Just teachin’ my nephew here some manners but he’s as thick as a hide on a bull, but he won’t be given any more trouble now, will ya boy?” 

All at once the defiance in Daryl’s stance is gone. He shrinks and then ducks in head a clear form of submission that has Rick baffled. Just a moment ago he looked like he wanted to raise hell against the man and now he was staring at the ground.

Joe’s a fairly large man with pepper salt hair and a greasy smile. He’s wearing a leather biker vest akin to Daryl’s with a butcher’s knife on his belt. Those eyes are piercing and direct as they barrel into Daryl with a clear message, a promise of pain. “See, nothin’ ta get all worked up ‘bout, he just needs to mind his manners. Dumb kid ain’t got nothin’ but shit fer brains.”

Shane nods in agreement. “Alright, ya’ll enjoy the rest of yer meal.”

They go back to their booth just in time for Maggie to place their meals in front of them. Shane’s rambling on about his date with a hot lawyer named Andrea but Rick isn’t listening. Instead his eyes are glue to Daryl who reminds slightly hunch over beside his uncle was they wait for their take-out. Joe was speaking to him, low and cuttingly his lips curling into a sneer.

It took only a second to notice but he had a death grip on Daryl’s upper arm and he didn’t need to read minds to know exactly what the old man had in store for him when they got home. The minute their food was ready Joe snatched it from the waitress and nearly dragged Daryl out of the diner.

Their interaction made something unpleasant twist within his gut.

Joe wasn’t a kind man, hell he can personally recall all those times he’s hauled him down to the drunk tank for getting into brawls at the local pub. Rick knew how the man had a nasty violate temper. A man with questionable morals no doubt, a man who is probably unstable.

Rick realises then he found a bead, black and shiny glimmering in the light—an invaluable trinket.

~

A foot print.

It’s not much, hell it’s barely anything but it’s the most they’ve found in weeks. Forensics comes by, does a general sweep of the area and confidently returned with substantial information. The foot print itself tracks away from Dale’s trailer at a 38 degree angle before it disappears into the fields.

However, the print of the boot is what interest Rick the most. It’s a boot specifically used for farming. Rick so happens to know that it’s a barracuda gold wedge steel toe work boot, one that’s pretty darn expensive and only sold in major cities.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

They’ve sealed the entire area off. Rick stares down at the foot print in the mud while the sun hangs blistering over his head. Wiping sweat from his brow he breathes in deeply, the Georgia heat unrelenting and it’s barely even June. He runs his tongue over his teeth trying to decipher exactly what the print means. Was this the person who killed Dale? Was he running away from the crime scene?

From what he can tell the foot print is easily a size ten or eleven.

It’s a useless tidbit of information since it does nothing to actually narrow their search down. The forensic investigators are out in the field trying to gather as much DNA as possible. It’s a tedious job, one that Rick is thankful he doesn’t have.

“It’s not lookin’ too good,” Abe grunts coming to stand beside him.

“Yeah?” Rick says. “What have ya got?”

“Turns out the tracks lead further North-east before we lose them but if ya look down there it’s only a couple more miles until ya can reach the highway.” Abe explains, holding up a large map so that Rick can see where his finger is pointing. “Now, the suspect may have had a car waitin’ down that way we simply don’t know but I reckon that ain’t the case.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause,” Abe replied. “If ya look here there are several directions he could have split off to on foot. For instance if he continues North-east he’s heading straight for the Miller’s farm but we both know that Old Miller’s got those pit-bulls tied up in the backyard.

They’d make enough ruckus to wake up the whole damn parish.  Now if our suspect continues but doesn’t veer off his course instead cuts through the forest then he’s on the Dixon property.”

“Christ,” Rick hissed. “That’s all speculative though. He may not have walked in that direction at all.”

“Maybe he did,” Abe drawls. “Maybe he didn’t. A hunch is a hunch though, it’s better than sittin’ on our asses waitin’ for clues to drop outta the sky.”

“It’s not enough for a warrant to search their properties,” Rick sighs. “Unless they give us permission we are back to square one.”

Abraham cuss his teeth, then folds up with map with a little more force than necessary before stomping away. It’s one dead end after another he knows his people are just as frustrated as he is. The first big murder case he’s ever got and all he’s hitting is speed bumps and road closures.

At around eleven pm he calls it quits and tells everyone to go home. It’s late by the time he drops Shane off at the station to get his car and he knows he has a mountain of paperwork waiting for him in the morning.

It’s been a stressful week, even more stressful month.

On his way home he takes a detour route. Driving down the dark, almost abandoned streets of Byromville. When he was a rookie he used to drive around town this late all the time. Enjoying the emptiness and hollow feeling it gave him.

Sometimes he’d even park somewhere with a six pack and drink sitting on the hood of his car watching the streetlights change. On this particular night Rick drove cautiously, not sure what he was looking for until he saw a lone figure walking down the street.

He knew who it was before he rolled down his window.

“Daryl?”

The kid turned sharply, eyes narrowed and body tense ready for a fight. He stopped walking, hands shoved deep into his ratty hoodie covering his head and face twisted in a scowl. Rick parked the car, opening the door to step out. He was still dressed in his uniform but he was in his own car. “What are you doin’ out here? It’s late….” Daryl continued to stare at him, distrust written all over his face. “I’m off duty right now so no worries kid.”

“I ain’t no damn kid,” Daryl barks “The fuck ya followin’ me for anyhow?”

Rick is suddenly very amused. “The law says you’re a kid, least ‘till ya reach eighteen. I wasn’t followin’ you. Just happen to be drivin’ by is all.”

“Whatever pig,” Daryl spits. “Why don’tcha fuck off then? Leave me be.”

“Christ,” Rick chuckles. “Ya kiss your mother with that mouth? Plus that ain’t anyway to talk to your elders.”

“My mother is dead.” Daryl spat. “I don’t give a shit how I should talk to ya’ll.”

Those words leave Rick feeling winded. He stares at Daryl now like he’s never seen him before. In front of him isn’t some bratty kid who doesn’t know manners if it hit him in the face. This teenage is a sad, soiled creature filled with hate and resentment for everyone around him. Rick realised then that he was no better than his lousy brother Merle. Or his piece of shit father who abandoned him. Rick nods solemnly. “Sorry to hear that, I apologised if I said anything that might’ve come off as insensitive…come on I’ll drive ya home.”

Daryl doesn’t respond for a long time, his eyes laced with cynicism until finally he shrugs and jumps into the passenger’s seat. The ride to the Dixon residence is silent, Rick knows the way well due to the sheer amount of times he’s arrested Merle.

“What were ya doin’ out that late anyway?” Rick has to ask.

“Ain’t none of yer business,” Daryl says staring out the window.

“Well, a handsome guy like you shouldn’t be wanderin’ the streets at night,” Rick smiles and is surprised when Daryl scoffs but doesn’t snap anything rude back. When they pull up into the driveway immediately Daryl tells Rick to slow down and to cut the lights and park under a tree. It’s very dark Rick can see the outline of the Dixon house just over the ridge. Daryl makes no move to exit the vehicle so he waits patiently.

“Food,” Daryl says so quietly Rick isn’t sure he’s heard him.

“What?”

“I was looking for food.”

It’s then Rick notices the slight bruising under his eye and his lip looks split. Before he can respond Daryl is out of the vehicle slamming the door shut.

It’s not much, hell it’s hardly anything but it’s something.

~ * ~


	2. Tempted the devil with my song

_~*~_

_Thank You, Elvis_

~*~

 

There’s a Firefly dancing in the night.

Flickering beacon, prelude to sanctuary and hope that is shrouded by darkness. It’s stunning to witness; all at once he feels his heart expand and longs to reach out to touch. Instead he holds back, afraid that his hands will chafe the insect or squash it carelessly. The bug moves with fluidity and grace that would shame a swan dancing, a tiny speck of light seemingly captured behind a black canopy. Completely mesmerized by the movement he tunes the rest of the world out; awestruck and pensive he ignores the television in the distant background as he stares outside his window.

Upstairs he can hear Carl and Judith getting ready for bed, Lori lightly scolding them before turning off the lights. There are footsteps, brusque and meaningful coming down the stairs.

“Rick,” Her voice is like the crack of a whip.

At first his initial reaction is to feign interest in the television; however that proves to be futile when she petulantly shuts it off and stands directly in front of him. The tone of her voice signifies dissatisfaction, among other things, but Rick distinctly knows that this confrontation will end with him apologizing and Lori succeeding in gaining the upper hand. Tonight isn’t a good night, Rick’s not in the generous mood, hasn’t been since he got home. When he opened the front door this evening he immediately thought of walking right back out.  The pub a few blocks down the street seemed like a welcoming alternative to another night at home with his wife and kids, drinking hard whiskey and imaging those dusty emerald trapezoid eyes under a pale moon light.

“Are you listening to me?” Her shrilling voice cuts through his thoughts.

It’s takes a moment, a brief struggle of sheer will and endurance to force himself to look at her. This warrior Goddess standing before him, hair windswept and piled atop of her head. The unswerving and fierce gaze she levels him with would bring even the strongest men to their knees. Nevertheless, Rick Grimes isn’t easily swayed especially when tonight isn’t a good night.

“What is it?” Rick inquires, forcing himself to be polite.

Lori scoffs. “Will you kindly explain where you were two nights ago?”

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Workin’ on the case…I’m not sure to be honest.”

“You aren’t sure…” Lori repeats slowly, like those words personally offends her. “Well, while you were not too _sure_ where you were I was doing everything myself. I can’t be a single parent. I need you to help buy the groceries and take the kids out every once and a while.”

Rick’s eyes narrow. “You’re home all day.”

“I’m home with Judith,” Lori snarls back. “I take care of our daughter twenty-four seven and all I’m asking for is a few hours for myself.”

“Is that all your askin’ for? Because it sounds like your askin’ for a bit more than that.”

“Is it too much to ask for you to spend time with your own children?” Lori demands. “We haven’t seen you in weeks, your hardly home anymore and I know for a fact you’ve been sleeping at the office.”

“The case—”

“I don’t want to hear any more about the damn case. If Tyrese can make it home every night to Karen and David then you can make it home back to us. It’s that simple Rick.”

This wasn’t the time or the place to have this argument, not when his kids were probably kept awake from the ruckus Lori was causing. “Keep your voice down—”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet we need to have this conversation.”

“This isn’t a conversation Lori,” He grunted as he stood from the couch. “This stopped bein' a conversation when you started yellin' at me.”

“That seems to be the only way to gain your attention these days,” Lori huffed, placing her hands on her hips.

“Okay fine,” Rick yielded. “I’ll try to make it home more often instead of sleepin' at the office.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Rick snarled, his own temper flaring.

“It’s not enough to just show up. You have to be _here_ with the kids. Helping them with their homework and actually fathering them.”

“Are you sayin’ I’m not a good father? Wow, you’ve got some nerve,” Rick hissed. “You can barely handle Judith on your own and you are with her all day. How’s that for parentin’ skills? It must be nice to sit on your ass all day!”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Lori glowers at him. “I am taking care of our children just like we discussed.”

All of a sudden Rick feels like shit. A great big pile of steaming shit and he sighs deeply. This argument has gotten out of hand and deep down he knows Lori is right. He hasn’t been there for Carl or Judith lately and she isn’t asking much except for some time for herself. “I know…I’m sorry.”

“What the hell is the matter with you? Lately it seems like you’ve checked out. People are talking Rick—”

“So what? Let them.”

“Our friends are worried even Shane says you aren’t acting like yourself.”

“You talked to Shane about me?”

“We are _worried_ ,” She pressed. “Take a break let someone else handle the grunt work but take some time off for me please—”

“I can’t…we have to solve this…but I’ll be home more I promise you that, Lori” He vows.

It’s not enough, they both know it.

Lori stares on, her face drawn in exhaustion and disappointment. Before Rick can articulate a more thorough compromise she is leaving, climbing the stairs three at a time and slamming their bedroom door shut. He resides back to the couch, staring out that window searching for the firefly again. It’s no surprise that it’s gone, flittering off no doubt to enchant someone else and he’s left gazing out in the abyss, picturing a crude mouth and a startling beauty mark.

~

The dreams come next.

Brimming with violent disposition, so much bloody gore that has Rick sweating, quivering and pissing in his sheets like a damn twelve year old girl.

It’s always the same dream.

The one with him covered in blood feeling invincible with blind fury racing through his core and laughing manically. It stains his hands and even when he washed them obsessively he can _still_ see it in the nooks and cracks.

The noise wakes the entire house; his screams pierce the distilled air until everybody is grumbling from lack of sleep. Lori—cautiously mouths the words: _psychiatric_ and _help_ in the same sentence which causes Rick to blow a gasket in the middle of breakfast. He slammed his coffee down abruptly startling all three occupants of the table. Carl stares at him wide-eyed and frightened while Judith mirrored his expression.

Rick is exhausted, it’s been three days and he’s had less than two hours of sleep each night. He can barely focus on the case, he can barely function now.

“No.”

His voice is raw and hoarse but firm.

“Rick,” Lori pleaded, desperate for some kind of compromise. “You are barely keeping it together…these dreams they aren’t healthy. Not for you and not for the kids.”

“I’m sorry,” Rick says, swallowing. “It’s just so random this insomnia…I can’t….” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I’ll get help. I will.”

She smiles encouragingly taking his hand into hers. “That’s all I ask.”

He clears his throat, nods to Carl and pats Judith’s hair and continues eating breakfast. He has to be at the station in a few hours.  When he comes into work that day his attitude is less than jovial when they run into another dead end in regards to Dale’s case. It turns out the foot print belongs to a man named Oscar Grinsley who Dale employed to help mow the fucking grass every year.

The news comes awkwardly in the briefing room by one the rookies, Glenn Rhee who describes the interaction with Oscar in detail. Rick is seething by the time Glenn is finished and everyone in the room is staring at him expectantly. “Fuck.” Is all he manages to utter softly; it’s not exactly the most intelligent thing he should say as Police Commissioner but it generally sums up the entire day.

“We should swing back ‘round,” Tyrese speaks up. “I know ya gotta statement from him Glenn but it wouldn’t do any harm askin’ a few more questions?”

“We can’t badger him,” Glenn strongly rebuts. “He’s already lost a close friend believe me it was hard enough getting him to agree to talk to me without breaking down.”

Abraham scoffs. “What do you know of it rookie?”

Glenn glares at him across the room and Rick intercepts their feud. "What’s forensics’ sayin’? Did they find anythin’ in the fields?” He demands from Sasha Williams.

“Not that I’m aware of,” She replies.

“Then we keep lookin’,” Rick says, determination in his voice. “We keep searchin’ the surroundin’ area even if we have to branch out even further. I want another list of every fuckin’ person Dale encountered before he died on my desk tomorrow mornin’.” He snatches the folders off the table and leaves the room with Shane and Abe trailing closely behind him.

“The fuck you doin’ man?” Shane snorts once the door is closed. “We just searched that area for three weeks and now ya want to see our crew back out there? Look, I knew Dale okay? I know this is a tough pill to swallow but most of the _evidence_ we found—ya I’ll use that word loosely—ain’t even worth diggin’ into. The trail has gone cold. Face it, whoever killed Dale he cleaned his tracks up pretty quick.”

“I agree with Walsh on this one Sir,” Abe says with his massive arms over his chest. “I don’t like it. Sure as hell ain’t gonna go down well with the people of this parish but we just don’t have any leads to go on.”

“Then we keep lookin’,” Rick pressed. “Keep searching until we find somethin’—anythin’ to keep this murder from being unsolved. It’s can’t go unsolved not here. Not in Byromville. Not in my town and certainly not where my kids sleep. This is our back yard that somebody has come into. Now get back to work.”

“Rick, brother I seriously think—”

“Get back to work.” He snaps, glaring fiercely at him.

Shane stares back disbelieving, before he scoffs. “Yes sir.”

Once they leave Rick pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He knew at some point during the day he had to go on live T.V and explain that the first break through of Dale’s murder had actually been a fluke. The whole thing would embarrass the shit out of his entire department and he knew many of the guys wanted to close this case but Rick just couldn’t do it—not yet at least. He felt he was missing something, a giant piece of the fucking puzzle and he wouldn’t rest until it was solved.

He left the office late that night and took a detour through town. In the light of day he refused to think about it, refused to acknowledge exactly what he was doing. The idea seemed foreign to him and even as he drove down the calm streets he knew it wasn’t normal to seek Daryl out.

To his surprise he didn’t have to search long.

The kid was dressed in the same hoodie, standing at the edge of the sidewalk balancing on the balls of his feet. A little puzzled Rick pulled up over to the curb and rolled the window down.

“Saw ya two blocks away,” Daryl says answering his unspoken question.

“Get in,” Rick jerks his head and Daryl doesn’t hesitate to jump into the passenger seat. They drive around for a minute before he pulled into an all-night diner and steps out of the car. He doesn’t wait for Daryl to catch up to him, just walks inside and grabs them a booth. Sitting across from him isn’t as awkward as he initially thought it would be. Then again he didn’t really have a lot of time to think this through. When the drinks are place down and the silence stretches on Rick finds that he’s finally feeling the weight of his fatigue.

“Ya look like shit,” Daryl observes, cocking his head to the side which is oddly enduring.

Rick swallows his biting comeback and settles for playing with a straw. “Rough week.”

“Good excuse,” Daryl replies, sounding disinterested.

The food comes then, hot and smelling absolutely mouth-watering. Rick watches across the table as Daryl literally inhales his meal of steak and potatoes with all the fixing when he can barely stand to nibble a few bites of his own. After several minutes he gives up trying to eat and instead stares dejected at the table top drinking his diet Coke. Daryl cleans his plate and Rick asks to take his home in a doggy bag. Throwing some money on the table they both leave the diner and when he checks the time he realises that it’s almost three in the morning.

The drive to Daryl’s house is longer than he remembers it. The windows are rolled down to let in a fresh breeze, he can smell pine and maple sap trees, hear the crickets and the cicada rule the night. He drives languidly, not too eager to return home enjoying the serene atmosphere. When he sees the Dixon house crest the hilltop he doesn’t drive down the dark winding road, instead he stops at the side, cutting the engine and leaning back in his chair. Christ, he’s so tired. What he wouldn’t give for a few undisturbed moments of blissful sleep. His limbs feel like anchors and eventually his blood shot eyes close.

There is light shuffling beside him, a belt buckle or a seat belt Rick isn’t entirely sure. It takes seconds for him to feel insurmountable warmth; it floods his core with an intense rhyme that he can’t place. A quick groan, a loud hiss and his eyes are rolling in his head. There’s a delicious slurping sound, heavy breathing and tugs that makes his skin prickle with desire.

“Fuck.”

That word again, this time it’s not said in indecision but in ecstasy. Rick has found nirvana, pure and simple as that. It’s blinding lights, wet and sweltering with hard strokes, lightly scrapping teeth and red rosy lips.

It’s all one big fucking deliberate mistake he makes.

Hands twist and coil in dark brown messy hair. Mouth flung open in a mock scream that will never pass his vocal cords. It’s so very wrong, yet vanity won’t allow him to feel bad about this.

It’s been a long time coming.

That night he found Daryl walking down the familiar bleak streets he knew exactly what he was doing. Watching him in the interrogation room, his eyes coveting the way that cigarette easily slid between his lips.

He knew what Daryl’s night time occupation was—he’s _always_ known.

Rick wasn’t a cop for nothing.

“Shit!” he gasps.

A strong yank on his balls leaves him paralyzed and the temptation grows too deep, suddenly he’s staring down watching Daryl suck his cock like a fucking pro. His mouth instantly goes dry; he feels he might literally explode because he’s never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. The sight of his pale dick slide between his full lips, spit and saliva leaving a trail nearly tips him over but Daryl has him hovering at the edge—not quiet there but painfully close. Rick’s gotten blowjobs before, usually from Lori yet they were nothing like this—nothing so catastrophic.

A stiff strike of his tongue and Rick erupted.

Bursting and flying sky high, tensing and expanding, blinded by white lights and electric shockwaves of unrelenting pleasure. Daryl drinks all of it dutifully like he was born to do it. When it’s over he feels like jelly, doesn’t hear the car door open and his companion slip out but instantaneously falls into a dangerous sleep, right there near the Dixon’s property.

~

For a week he sleeps like the dead.

It’s the best sleep he has in years and even Lori compliments the progression of his therapy, smiling proudly at him. Rick didn’t go to therapy but he placates her anyway graciously nodding along. She can’t help be query why he’s been coming home later and later almost every night this week. Rick winces slightly and then he has no choice but to deflect by stating that the case is requiring longer hours.

It’s a little white lie.

One that he feels conscience-stricken over but she can never find out what his nocturnal activities included. When he’s in his office at work, finally allowed some quiet time to think and reflect and he almost breaks down from the culpability.

He never thought he’d cheat on his wife before.

Never once had any desire too before it’s just Daryl is...well he’s not entirely sure _what_ he is but it’s making Rick confused. All the thoughts in his head are jumbled and mixed up, sometimes he feels like being sucked into a vortex. 

In the end he doesn’t get help.

He does however do everything in his power to spend as much time with his family as he can. Carl and Judith both squeal when he takes them to the zoo and then out for ice cream. Lori hasn’t stopped smiling all day and Rick feels like God should drop an anvil from the sky to crush him.

He feels like scum.

Lower than that, the feces that have passed through the intestines. Ultimately, Rick Grimes is a piece of shit.

As they drive home he grips the wheel tighter than necessary, watching his kids sleep in the rear-view mirror.  “Are you alright?” Lori’s voice startles him and he nearly flinches when she touches his arm.

Rick eyes her warily, breathing in through his nose. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You haven’t said much all day,” She says, resting her hand on his a brief examinations of his temperament.

“Just…thinking…” Rick finishes lamely.

“About?” Lori edges.

Rick can’t tell her, he knows that. How could he say that he was actually thinking about how disgusted she would be if she found out he picked up a prostitute. An underage prostitute and bought him a meal just so he could suck him off in his car. The transaction between Daryl and Rick had been clinical at best but still it wasn’t something he was ever going to tell her. A painful lurch in his gut reminded him of his children sleeping in the back and his doting wife sitting next to him.

All the things he could stand to lose if anyone _ever_ found out.

“The case,” Rick mumbles, shifting around in his chair. It’s not the answer she’s hoping for. It takes only a moment before she slumps back into her chair sighing ‘Oh’. As far as Rick can tell the conversation is over. Lori has gone back to staring out the window as they drive home.

It’s utter anguish but he endures every second.

~

Daryl has a black eye.

It’s grotesque and makes his stomach turn in the worst way imaginable. The kid is leaning against a brick wall outside of a bar smoking. Rick is off duty with Tyrese and Glenn doing some last minute shopping for Maggie’s birthday party. When they exit the store Rick’s eyes hone in on Daryl across the street and he doesn’t hesitate to makes up some lame excuse to get away from his friends. They nod happily, pat him on the shoulder and say they’ll see him tomorrow. He waits until they are long gone before crossing the street.

Daryl flicks away the cigarette bud, pining Rick with one of his infamous Dixon glares. “The fuck ya want Sherriff?”

It’s then under the fake streetlights that he sees the bruise, the discoloration turned his skin an ugly purplish color spreading to his cheek bone and edging closer to his nose. Rick can’t stop the rage he feels it hot and quick, like a flare. “What happened to your face?” The words gush out of his mouth and then he’s touching Daryl’s chin, titling it to get a better look.

“Stop,” Daryl finches, then knocks his hand away. “Get yer faggot hands off me.”

The word is meant to insult him but in the end it doesn’t. Instead it makes him feel sullen. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“I ain’t goin’ home with you,” Daryl grunts.

The mulish look in his eyes causes Rick to pause a moment. He doesn’t want to but he knows he’ll have to because threats aren’t something he frequently indulges in. “You can come home with me now or I’ll grab my police cruiser and we can drive home in that later.”

“Fuck you. Ya want a bitch at yer beck and call well it ain’t me. The next time I suck ya off ya best be payin’.”

“Are you solicitin’ an officer for sex?” Rick asks. “I can drag your ass to the station right now for sayin’ shit like that.”

“Then do it.” Daryl challenges. “'Cept you can’t. ‘Less ya want to admit how much ya enjoyed it to the rest of yer cop buddies.”

Rick seethes at the prelude of an ultimatum. This isn’t going well, certainly not the way he was hoping for. Before he can spit something back Daryl is speaking.

“Yer all the same, fuckin’ pigs Merle used to call ya’ll. It’s so easy to go back to yer white picket fence lives and forget about everybody else.”

“That’s not true,” Rick defends adamantly, Daryl’s simplistic analysis of his life was grating on his nerves. How many sleepless nights did he endure case after case? Looking at gut-wrenching photos and agonizing how to catch the bad guys. “I made an oath to protect those who need it. Even when I’m off duty I’m always on duty. I could never just forget Daryl, sometimes things aren’t that simple.”

“Yer not a very good listener,” Dary says irate.

Leaving Rick feeling confused.

“Is it so damn hard to see what’s in front of yer face?”

By now Rick is feeling befuddled by the entire conversation. It doesn’t make any sense and at first he wants to pacify Daryl’s doubts about his adherence, but he knows that will fall on deaf ears. Instead he stands there; hand on his hip feeling like he’s missing something. Daryl’s voice has remained harsh, raspy form the smoke but he’s step forward so they aren’t far away from each other.

To onlookers they seem confrontational, ready to use their fists instead of words but Rick knows differently. Daryl’s eyes betray a much sinister meaning. It isn’t until he sees Joe exit the bar that the meaning becomes clear.

_Are you watching closely?_

“Daryl,” Joe clips, like striking a match.

The boy stares at him now and Rick at last realized what Daryl said without actually using the words. Those eyes large emerald eyes beech, he feels them clawing at his ankles for help and it isn’t until he watches Daryl walk away with Joe and serval other of his slimy friends does he conclusively gain the overall message.

The thin silk vail is uplifted and now Rick Grimes can _see_.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't even begun ;-)


	3. Here from the King's mountain view

_~*~_

_Thank You, Elvis_

~*~

 

It’s one of those days.

Where the heat is sweltering, thick with humidity and the sun seems relentless. A day where there’s a light breeze, not enough to cool him down but enough to remind him of the sweat accumulating on his back.

Carl and Judith are playing in the shade, lazily tossing a small ball back and forth since it’s too hot to do anything more than that. Lori has her gardening hat on, along with those hideous crock shoes he loathes. It’s a simple afternoon in the Grimes household. They ate pancakes this morning before going to church. He can still recall the disgusting taste of Lori’s special—uncooked, mostly batter—pancakes she makes every Sunday morning.  

He’s at the grill flipping burgers and keeping an eye on the time.

Shane should be here any second.

Probably to yell at him or to preach a sermon about that new lawyer he’s been seeing. Either way Rick isn’t looking forward to this visit. Mostly because Shane can read him like an open book and he knows that if he says the wrong thing, looks the wrong way, Shane will _know_.

He’ll see the betrayal.

The lust, greed and sinful desire he has for a kid who will most likely end up like his older brother, a delinquent. It’s so wrong, disgusting and he hates himself for it, but he can’t seem to stop. Daryl has taken up a significant part of his mind, consuming it and sprouting roots.

At first he had denied it, had told himself that it was a phase, a passing infatuation that would soon end. Only it didn’t as the weeks waned and his life consisted of the same mundane pattern, it only seemed to grow.

“Ouch!” He jerked his hand away from the grill, realising too late that he had been burnt.

“Ya never could grill properly,” Shane says, coming to his aid and taking the spatula away. “Go tend to yer wounds solider.”

Rick grunts and disappears into the kitchen to run cold water on the wound.  The burn itself isn’t bad, hurts like a bitch, but is superficial at best and should heal in a few days. Looking out the kitchen window he watches Shane and Lori briefly interact, he tosses her a beer and they chat cordially.

He puts some ointment on the wound and joins them, snatching another beer from the cooler. They continue on with their conversation while he hangs back, not particularly eager to interrupt. After ten minutes or so Lori excuses herself to set the table, calling Carl and Judith to wash up and help.

“These are ‘bout done,” Shane says closing the grill and setting the spatula down.

Rick nods, taking a long sip of his beer.

“How’re ya doin’ man?”

“Fine.” He gives Shane a sideways glance. “Why?”

He shrugs, using half his shoulder. “Don’ seem like it.”

“What does it _seem_ like?”

“You tell me brother,” Shane baits.  “Look…”

Here we go.

“…Ain’t any way to say it, but to come straight out with it,” Shane says, titling his head forward. “Now thangs haven’t been right since ya started this case. You’ve been pissy, hell, half the time everyone in the office just avoids you and I know it can be stressful believe me brother, but….” He sighs, rubbing his bald forehead. “We’re supposed to be partners in this. Like we’ve always been, but lately it seems like you’ve gone off on yer own. Ignoring wise council and such. So why don’ you just tell me what’s goin’ on. Is it Lori? The kids? Somethin’s been up with ya and it’s time we stop pretendin’ otherwise.”

It would be easy, he thinks, to tell his friend everything.

That he screwed around on his wife, his perfect wife that most men would die for, to be with another man—a kid. Shane would side with him. Say it was a onetime thing, curiosity and such. Then they would never speak of it ever again, occasionally Shane would look at him, questions burning in his eyes, but he’d stay silent.

Except Daryl is his secret.

Those eyes, that body, those lips belong to him and he doesn’t feel like sharing them, especially with Shane.

Instead he scoffs, grips his beer tightly. “Like I said before I’m fine brother. I ‘ppreciate yer concern. I do. But as ya can see everythin’ is right as rain.”

It’s a bold face lie.

One he does out of necessity. Shane nods once, mutters something about getting a plate for the burgers before he retreats inside.

He stands there for a moment, contemplating what to do next. Clearly Lori told Shane some things, _what_ he isn’t exactly sure, but now he knows they are working together. Sooner or later they will ambush him, for his own good they’ll say and start imposing restrictions. Don’t work so late. Drop the case. Take a break.

It will do nothing but stress him out and make him want to rebel.

Rick swipes the sweat off his forehead, gazing troublesomely at the skyline.

A perfect house, a perfect lie.

~

A fiendish demon sits at the foot of his bed.

He stares at its sickly pale skin, abnormally long limbs and dark red glowing eyes. The creature is all foaming canines and pointed ears, clawing desperately at his legs.

He shudders violently, gawking disbelieving at what is happening in his bedroom. In his home. At first he questions his sanity. Then the demon lurches forward, talons scratches at his face drawing blood.

Save me, it says tearing him apart. Save me.

He wakes up screaming.

Lori is beside herself the next morning, wringing her hands mumbling about therapy being a load of shit anyways. The kids stay clear of their father in the morning, grabbing their lunches and heading off to school. Rick drinks his coffee black, mixed with whiskey before he goes to work. He’s slept maybe two hours last night and it shows.

His mood is brusque and profane when he enters the office. They scurry around him like rats, large groups leaping out of his way.

There’s nothing new in regards to Dale’s murder case.

Which isn’t surprising, Glenn breaks the news to him timidly, although he can tell Glenn would rather be chewing rusty nails. At noon there’s a call for a domestic dispute on King Street. He doesn’t hesitate to jump in the police cruiser with Shane, his blood pulsating with adrenaline.

A fury, a rage, something he’s used to becomes insoluble. Rick curls his fist around his clot, face drawn into a harsh grimace as they get closer to their destination. When they pull up into the driveway he can tell shit has already hit the fan.

The screen door is hanging off its hinges and Sophia is sitting on the steps sporting a busted lip. They get out of the car, Shane already speaking lowly to the girl telling her that everything is going to be okay and to wait in the car. She immediately does as he says, Sophia’s a good girl.

“Calm down,” Shane checks him first.

And Rick wants to scream at him. Tell him to shut the fuck up and that if it were his kids, he wouldn’t be so damn calm. Instead he glares at him, gritting his teeth because Shane will never understand.

Ed Peletier is the bane of Byromville.

The most miserable human being in existence next to Will Dixon and his lowlife son Merle, he tainted everything this town stood for.  He couldn’t count the amount of times they’ve been called up here for domestic abuse charges, none filed because Carol kept changing her story.

“Police,” Shane shouts through the door and they both walk in.

Carol is sitting on the couch, both of her eyes are nearly swollen shut and there’s a large hand print around her neck. She attempts to stand but nearly falls back on the couch gripping her side. “Hey Rick,” She says slightly hysterical. “Shane. What can I do ya for?”

Shane levels her with a hard look. “Come on Carol, ya know why we’re here. Got a call ‘bout domestic abuse.”

“Tell that damn Sheryl to keep outta my business,” She bites back.

“Now Carol—”

“Don’t ya now me,” She replies. “Ya’ll think ya can come into my house an’ start makin’ assumptions. Well Ed never touched me, never laid a finger on me. I fell ya hear?”

Rick has had enough of this.

Her lies, her denial, her delusions—her _everything_. A little girl was at risk, a child and someone who was very close to Carl. Imagine the kind of dysfunction she would think was normal growing up like this, Daddy beating Mommy would be normalized to her. Violence, blood and tears would be all that little girl would ever know.

“Where is he?” His question slices through their argument.

Carlo’s feign bravado slips instantly; she is rattled by the question. Wringing her hands, she pauses, mouth stuttering to form words and body shaking with nervousness.  “I don’t know.”

“I’ll say this and I’ll say it just once: Ya tell me where that sack of shit is right now or else I’ll haul you down to the station for child negligence.”

Carol swallows, twitches, stares at the rug for several minutes before muttering that he’s in the bedroom.

“Call for back up,” Rick barks before taking off into the bedroom, drawing his gun and keeping close to the wall. He forces himself to remain calm, to not act irrationally, but his hand is aching around his gun.

Ed isn’t dangerous.

He’s just a mean old drunk who likes to beat up his wife occasionally. Yet, Rick doesn’t want him in this town anymore. Not in his town. Polluting his air, his people. This isn’t right and he is going to do what he can to make it right. The bedroom door is wide open, he can see Ed’s feet dangling off the edge of the bed.

A thought, more like an image, explodes across his vision. In that moment he wants Ed dead, brains splattered around the wall, blood trailing down the giant hole in his skull. He wants that. Craves to see that. The nightmarish dreams come back full force and all he can see is red. Stepping inside the room he leans over Ed who snores obliviously, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Rick deliberates the law briefly, not that it matters because he is the law. Still, there are rules, protocols, he knows this. However, the law isn’t justice, it’s an ideal—it’s power and at this very moment he has all the power he needs.

He points the gun, cocks it, the noise sounding deafening in the otherwise vacant house. Ed’s eyes open, slow and lazily, smacking his lips as he awakes.

“Get up.”

Ed’s eyes widened in horror, he makes an odd mewling sound and he rises on the bed. “Get on the ground and don’t move a fucking muscle.”

The bastard smirks then. “Ah, I see Carol has been runnin’ her mouth. Don’t pay no mind to my little wife, she just fell down the stairs again. Clumsy bitch has two left feet.”

Rick strikes, quick and fast like a Cobra. Smashing the blunt end of his clot into the side of Ed’s face, relishing in the sickening crunch sound it makes when metal meets flesh. The blow sends Ed flying off the bed, hurtling onto the ground. “You aren’t very good at listening.” He taunts, standing over his body. Ed is cursing, struggling to move, but his nose is gushing blood and Rick can see he must have bust a blood vessel in his right eye.

“You’re under arrest,” He’s pushing Ed onto his stomach, slapping the cuffs on him.

Shane and Abe enter the room, both looking winded and puzzled. Ed is shouting about police brutality and suing them when he can get in touch with his lawyer, but Abe is already hauling him out the door. The EMS is already there tending to Sophia and Carol but this isn’t over. Rick storms over to Carol, shoving a piece of paper in her face. “Sign it.”

“Rick, man this isn’t the time,” Shane chastise him.

“Sign it,” He barks at Carol, causing the woman to jump.

She stares at the paper blankly. Rick wants to grab her and shake her until her ears ring and teeth clatter. Instead he holds it out, an olive branch that she better take or so help him, he will drag her ass to prison right along with Ed.

In the end she signs.

He thunders out the front door, heart racing and his skin feeling tight. What a rush—the sight of blood, how it flood so thick and red. Ed’s stunned, bruised and battered face glaring up at him hatefully. Serves him right for putting his hands on woman.

Rick has won.

This victory is sweet, tooth achingly so. With this restraining order Ed won’t be able to go near his wife and child again.

Old passive Rick could have never gotten this done.

New Rick, well, he just doesn’t give a shit anymore. He feels high, like he could climb a mountain, jump from skyscrapers and punch Ghandi in the face.

Shane trails up beside him, head hanging low, giving him that look of dissatisfaction.  The same one he sees in Lori’s eyes every single day. “Man….I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Don’t,” Rick says, because fuck him and his superiority. “Either you have my back or get off it.”

Not waiting for a reply he gets into his car. For all he cares Shane can walk back to the city. He smiles on his way to the station, because today was overall a good day.

The demon moves from his back and sits on his shoulder.

~

Drinking and driving isn’t something _cops_ should do.

Especially Police Commissioners but Rick is feeling unabashedly reckless tonight. It might essentially have something to do with the fact that he has all night to do whatever he wants. The kids are in bed, Lori is knocked out cold from her yoga class this evening and he is supposed to be going home from work. Instead he drives with the windows down, relishing in the summer breeze flittering through his wavy hair.

Alcohol is effervescent in his veins.

Rick may have had a beer or two after work. Then several more when he realised that he couldn’t go home. Hell, at some point he stopped at the liquor store to get another six-pack and sat in the parking lot of Chucky Cheese to drink some more.

Inebriated: check. Delirious: check. Horny-as-fuck: double check.

The weeks had waned; his relationship with Lori deteriorating rapidly and his friendship with Shane gone sour. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them anymore, because he did, unconditionally, but this thing inside him was eating him alive.

He couldn’t sleep most days without seeing that damn kid.

Smoke curling around his mouth, face half secluded in darkness and those eyes black with mischief. Daryl was an enigma, one that he desperately wanted to pull apart with his lips, mouth and teeth. It was so wrong, twisted. He was barely seventeen, a few years older than Carl.

This obsession was dangerous, he knew that. If anybody ever found out his reputation would be ruined, livelihood destroyed all for some hillbilly-kid with a tight ass and a talented mouth.

Just a quick taste, a lick, a suck, a _fuck_ and then he’ll be cured. The demon will succumb, Rick is sure of it. He just needs to scratch this itch, quench his thirst and then things will fall back into place.

He’ll stop daydreaming about those eyes, that hair and that boy.

The road is dark and low, winding and deviating, but he finds his way. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’s going. Rick barely has control over his motor skills, because he can only see one person in his mind.

At some point he should acknowledge these turn of events.

Certainly the way his guts twist uncomfortably whenever he _thinks_ of Daryl or how he can’t seem to stop. It all becomes irrelevant after a while, because his thoughts blurred together into two major compartments: things about Daryl and things not about Daryl. The distinction becomes obscured until _all_ things are about Daryl: what he’s doing, where he’s going and if he’s okay.

However, Rick knows he’s better off not acknowledging anything.

The resolution to ignore whatever sickness is brewing inside him is almost instinctual. He is a creature of habit after all, change isn’t commonplace.

When he rounds the corner he slams on his breaks. His heart palpitating in his chest as the boy in question is lurking the streets again. Everything is practically deserted when he pulls up, the kid is wearing army pants with combat boots, paired with a black sleeveless shirt, exposing his arms in a way that makes Rick feel vastly uncomfortable.

The passenger door opens, closes and Rick drives on.

He’s got nowhere in mind specifically, he just continues to follow the road wherever it takes them. A dull silence has hijacked the car, now they are both held hostage to it. Inconspicuously Rick sneaks glances over at Daryl. The bruise on his eye has all but vanished, but the boy is still tense, staring outside the window gnawing on his thumbnail.

“Two blocks and ya still can’t ask me,” Daryl’s voice pierces the air. “Fuckin’ pussy.”

He stares back at him perplexed. “Ask you what?”

Daryl gives him a side eye. “Ask me.”

“I don’t understand,” Rick frowns.

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Fuckin’ ask me already.”

It’s there.

The answer, but its muddled in his brain, dancing at the tip of his tongue, blurring at the edge of his peripheral vision. Not far, just out of reach. He blanches, mouth making a slight wheezing noise as he inhales and exhales.

It’s coming. He blurts, barfs and vomits—

“How much?”

Spiraling down down down.

 He demands it, requires an answer and his words are crisp, clear—leaving absolutely no room for misinterpretation.

Isn’t this why he was seeking Daryl out? Why he’s been searching for him for two weeks? No, it’s sick and wrong and against everything Rick stands for, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

He wants _this_ , more than anything.

His hands grips the steering wheel, they are slightly trembling with the exhilaration charging through his veins, like an engine revving up: _vroom, vroom._ Daryl is pensive, half of his face shadowed in darkness, his lip twitches and he lights a cigarette.

He smokes, Rick fidgets and they both ignore the growing implications of what’s going to happen next. “Hundred for one night,” his response is slow.

“And I only accept cash. Drive to the motel off Highway 95.”

Rick floors it.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Katia for editing this chapter.
> 
> Thoughts?


	4. On treasures and flesh, never few

_~*~_

_Thank You, Elvis_

~*~

Hereafter he shall admit that he was careless.

Not purposefully so, of course not. Nevertheless if there were things he could do again, rewind time and what not, this place would have been one of them.

When they arrive the sign is blinking neon blue, but several of the letters don’t light up so instead it spells _O_ and _L._ Which makes absolutely no-sense but he guesses the general public understands what it’s supposed to say.

The parking lot is empty, the gravel making the ride bumpy as they pull into a space. Daryl gets out first, pulling keys from his back pocket.

Apparently the room has already been booked.

Rick is apprehensive when he follows Daryl inside. To his utter lack of surprise the place is by all accounts filthy, a light layer of grime cover the windows and furniture. A simple queen sized bed, a leather black chair that is held together by duck-tape and a television that has a hole through the glass center with a flimsy paper attached to it that says _Out of Service_.

This place is sordid.

It makes his skin crawl, his muscle tense and fills him with dread as he gazes at the rug that has a variety of questionable stains. The owner must keep all of his rooms in the same slovenly fashion and it hit him that this must be where Daryl conducts his business. Where he brings his clients, to engage in all manner of beastly behavior and at first Rick is offended.

Thoroughly, to his very core aggrieved that he is brought here. To this place, to this level of degradation where he must _share_ the same bed as those monsters did with Daryl.

He isn’t like them.

Not in the slightest. Rick is a good man, upstanding citizen he doesn’t part take in aberrancy. Damn Daryl for thinking that he was, damn him for bringing him here, to this place. All at once his confidence is waterlogged.

He loathes it immediately, wants to go back to the sanctuary of his car and forget this ever happened. And he almost does, almost turns right around and walks out the door. However, Daryl is removing his boots hastily and it makes Rick’s throat go dry.

This siren has started singing; the paralysis seized his arms and legs as the musical voice emissions from the sky. At first he allows himself to let his gaze linger. It’s okay here, in this place, in this dishabille room to behold him.

A rare beauty.

That strikes at his heart so swiftly that the wound is nefariously fatal. He bleeds a crimson mulberry of silk, drenching his clothes and carpet blackening it. Daryl turns to face him, unaware of the turmoil he is in.

“Where do ya want to start?”

The question hangs in the air and Rick almost says at the beginning but refrains. Where should they start? He’s never done this. Doesn’t have the slightest clue of what goes into where and who does what.

He settles for a shrug.

“First time?” Daryl needlessly asks.

Rick nods.

“Well, on the account of ya bein’ a cop n’ all I figured first time should be for free. Usually I tell them to put the money on the table. I have two rules, no spankin’ which includes hittin’ or any of that kinky Daddy shit. And ya can’t fuck me raw.”

“Only two?” Rick can’t help but inquire.

“Yeah.”

In that moment he wants to chastise him. To tell him that he should at least have fifty rules, plus a look out if things ever went wrong. Hell, he shouldn’t even be here. He should be in bed getting ready for the next day of school.

This dingy motel shouldn’t be his night.

The guilt comes back, full force this time and suddenly he sees past Daryl’s physical appearance. This isn’t right, he’s just a kid, barely legal and here he is propositioning a cop so he won’t go to jail. Rick swallows down his own disgust for himself.

“How old are you?”

Daryl regards him. “Nineteen.”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” Rick utters so savagely that it causes Daryl to start.

There is silence that follows.

Now he’s angry, furious at the situation and his brewing sickness. He’s the fucking adult. This is everything he swore to fight against. This isn’t right—it never was.

“Sixteen,” Daryl finally mumbles.

He breathes deeply. “Christ.”

“It don’ matter none,” Daryl says adamantly. “I won’t tell anybody s’not like anyone would believe me.”

“That is beside the point,” Rick is revolted, his stomach turning because Daryl thinks so little of himself. “I am nearly three times your age.”

“So?” Daryl challenges. “S’just sex. Don’ mean nothin’.”          

“It means everythin’.” It does.

He knows that now.

Before it was nothing, merger skin slapping against skin, flesh penetrating flesh but now it’s something entirely different. Daryl isn’t some faceless boy that he can use to satisfy his own desire and Lori isn’t some witch he is tethered to. She is the mother of his children, his wife. 

“Are we doin’ this or not?" Daryl is suddenly impatient as if he can sense a shift in the atmosphere.

Everything that was blurred before suddenly becomes focused. The winds have changed, blowing, howling in a different direction. Briefly he thinks of Carl, imagines him tucked in bed or playing with his action figures. That’s where he should be now, with his kids and his kids with their Dad.

“No. We’re not.”

It’s a sobering reply.

One that Daryl doesn’t immediately respond to. He does however, give him a devious smirk. Then he flips his dark hair out of his eyes, pink tongue peaks out to lap at his bottom lip. “Afraid ya might like it?”

The resolve he had before is precipitously crumbling.

He realizes all too late that it was built on quicksand. That is all heightened by the fact that Daryl is fully aware of his sexual yearning, the white hot heat flashing in his veins.

“Yes.”

The truth is ultimately what he decides on.

Knowing full well the implications of what would happen if he _did_ like it. Daryl would take on a new client, one with power and position that would have to look the other way while he procured more clients. It would be an endless, addictive cycle of him paying for sex. Even if it was with a vixen that would make all of his wildest dreams come true he couldn’t.

For the sake of his wife and children he must make a decision. He knows if he were to have Daryl, here and now bent over, begging and open for him that he would never _ever_ be able to leave.

“Then go.” Daryl jerks his head towards the door.  “Ain’t got time for scared pussies anyway,” He mutters. “Might as well get someone who’s payin’.”

Everything happens in an instant.

Rick lunges forward, grabbing Daryl’s shirt and slamming him against the wall. There are light tremors in his hands. The ire he feels so violently is back full force until he is _consumed_.

“You bring anyone else here and I will haul your ass down to the station so fast you won’t know what fuckin’ hit ya.”

Daryl looks surprised—his eyes widen with shock and gleam with something else, something primal. “Is that right _officer_?”

Rick seethes at the derisive tone Daryl uses.

He doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to picture Daryl with _those_ men. They are ravenous, evil and despicable men, touching him—staining him, with their dirty hands and perversions. At the thought of it his heart clenches in his chest, he can’t bear it.

The Adonis before him isn’t theirs to infest.

All at once Rick is moving his hands. They glide from clenching Daryl’s shirt and move up towards his neck. Curiously his hand traces the long column of his smooth skin, until he is cupping Daryl’s jaw. 

No words pass between them.

Daryl swallows anxiously, his mouth slightly parted and Rick can’t help but thumb his thin lips. The air has thinned around them; Rick can scarcely breathe because his own need is surging through his veins. One look into his emerald eyes, slanted with sensuality and passion, Rick finds himself falling.

Plummeting head first into a pit, filled with brazen fire.

“God help me.”

Their lips clash together, it’s electric and electrifying.

Setting all of his nerve endings alight. It’s brutal and unrestrained, more tongue and teeth colliding in an unholy battle of sin. When their lips connect in a heated graze of fervor his inside solidifies.

This kiss is a harsh concoction of impetuosity, ardor and vengeful hunger. His tongue is rough, demanding entry, his beard scraping against soften flesh. Daryl grunts, yielding powerlessly to him.  

All at once Rick devours him, searing hot hands gripping his delicate face and neck, thumb pressing tightly against each pressure point until Rick nicks his lower lip with his teeth.

Daryl draws back immediately stunned.

Rick is possessed, staring at the drop of blood gathering at the tip of his thin lips. He’s never seen anything so magnificent in his whole entire life. Before he can stop himself he wrenches forward and licks it away.

When he pulls back Daryl is staring at him terrified.

Rick knows what he must look like, lips stained with blood, a wolfish grin threatening to split his face but this how things are meant to be.

This kiss has opened a gateway to ecstasy.

One that he isn’t eagerly willing to close just yet and before Daryl can fully regain composure he is swops back in, mouth claiming his. A few kneeing moans, a slight airy gasp strung from Daryl has Rick soaring on the backs of Eagles’. 

He plunges his tongue deeper, lapping, drinking from the wound callously and letting the blood flow into his mouth. It’s so fucking hot, the rush and having Daryl pressed up against him tightly. They pant together, Daryl clinging to his broad shoulders as they kiss like wild men dying of thirst. Rick curls his arm, winding it around the kid’s narrow waist and moving to suck on his neck. Daryl is a mess beneath him, quivering and breathless, digging his blunt nails into the back of his shirt. Suctioning his lips around the pale white flesh Rick sucks vigorously, desperate to claim, to mark with a mantra running rampant in his head: _mine, mine, mine_ —

 _Ring, ring_.

The vociferous of a cellphone puts everything to a grinding halt.

Rick groans loudly, burying his face further in the sweet scent of cigarettes, musk and something distinctly Daryl. He hurriedly reaches into his back pocket and takes out his cellphone with every intention of throwing it across the room until he sees the name on the caller displayed.

Lori is calling.

That means she is no longer asleep and will be wondering where he is. Rick moves, only slightly, just to put some space between them so he can gather his thoughts. The taste of metallic and iron are still caressing his tongue. He has captured every sigh and moan emitted from Daryl’s lips.

Rick feels delirious.

They are both panting, Daryl’s lip is still bleeding and Rick is fighting everything within him not to attack, lick and imbibe at the wound.

The demon is displeased.

Rattling against the confines of its cage, it is riotous to escape. However, his will is stronger and with all his might he keeps the creature confined and releases Daryl. In order to distract himself he goes into the bathroom and returns with some toilet paper. Daryl accepts it and gently dabs at his bottom lip.

“I’ll take ya home,” Rick mumbles.

He waits in the car while Daryl locks the motel door. The ride into town is silent and it suddenly occurs to Rick that he doesn’t really want this night to end. Not like this. Instead he pulls into the local diner and they get a booth together.

After they get their food Daryl eats voraciousness across from him, like a starving man having his last meal. Rick watches and finally asks a question he already knows the answer to.

“Daryl…is that the first meal you’ve had all day?”

He stills, right in the middle of shoving several French fries into his mouth. Daryl’s eyes lower to the table and he gives a slight nod.

“Okay,” Rick says. “Okay.”

Before they leave he orders another burger to go and they drive towards the Dixon residence.

“Ya won’t…ya know…arrest me or nothin’?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I dunno…I guess I like havin’ ya around.”

Daryl snorts a laugh, gazing out the windshield and Rick finds that he feels content. They sit there for a few moments, just being together. It’s nice, serene if he was to really think about it and he hasn’t felt this stress free in a long time.

“See ya ‘round,” Daryl says opening the door.

“Wait.”

Rick stops him because this can’t go on. Despite the fact that he hates it, can’t stand the idea of Daryl being with those men he knows in order for Daryl to keep out of trouble he needs to occupy his time with something else.

“I’ll make ya a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Well,” Rick replies. “I don’t much like the idea of ya walkin’ ‘round these streets late at night. I know you can probably take care of yourself, I’m not disputin’ that but you should be in school. Now, I know that between your uncle and whatever else is goin’ on that it might be a bit of a problem. However, if you are willin’ to work with me we can get you back on track and you can start goin’ to your classes regularly—”

“No deal.”

“What?”

“I said no fuckin’ deal.”

“Why not?”

“It’s so easy for ya,” Daryl fumes. “Ta come down ‘ere all high and mighty, thinkin’ yer doin’ me a favor by buyin’ me shit and talkin’ sweet.”

“Look,” Rick says trying to abate the situation. “I ain’t speakin’ from a position of privilege. I just want what’s best for you. You’re a bright kid with a promising future now let’s see—”

“A future doin’ what? Sucking cock and takin’ it up the ass?”

Rick cringes at his blunt tone.

“You don’ know my future so why don’tcha leave me be?”

He sighs deeply. “Daryl—”

“This is all I’m good for anyhow.”

The passenger door slams shut in his face. Rick sits there for a moment, sullen as he watches Daryl walk up the road towards his house. This evening had been going so well until he suggested school.

Then it hit him and he wanted to punch himself for being so blind.

Of course Daryl didn’t want to go to school. He could barely afford to feed himself most days, how was he going to keep up at school without any money?

There had to be another solution, another way to keep Daryl off the streets and falling into the hands some those heinous men, he just had to figure out what.

~

Time and space elude him.

Rick is buoyant as he slips into different dimensions, drifting like a cumbersome crab against the waves of the shore. At some point during this voyage he manages to trip, stumbling blindly into a sucking black-hole. There he descends into the abyss, of besmirching despair, hatred and whatnot, because that is where he must reside with the demon.  

Rick doesn’t want to time travel anymore.

It’s not as glamourous as they make it out to be.

After he decides that such an odyssey is futile the hole spits him out, tossing him back to earth where he must live out his sentence. Rick comes to his senses, realizing that at some point he fell asleep in his car at the Dixon residence.

When Rick returns home that night after being out with Daryl his wife is raving mad. He enters the door after four am and at first doesn’t think much of it, the shadow hulking behind Lori’s lean figure. The grotesque lanky being hovering menacingly behind her doesn’t startle him in the slightest.

He doesn’t question his sanity, doesn’t even blink. Instead he heads straight to bed, ignoring her cries of outrage of his lack of prudence.

The next few weeks move forward.

Jumping, twisting and hopping in a crisscross manner that he isn’t sure they are actually happening. He doesn’t sleep much. If he sleeps he dreams and dreams are decidedly the enemy, the fear is turning him inside out and outside in.

Habitually his mind wanders to Daryl.

He wonders scattily what would have happened if that night had gone differently. If and only _if_ he had done what he really wanted to do—which if he was being quiet honest with himself it alarms him. His corrupt fingers caressing virginal flesh, so sweet and ripe like a peach, fuck he can almost taste it.

Daryl would be spread out before him, begging and pleading while he pounds mercilessly into him from above. It’s brutal, the act itself because at some point in his mind Daryl’s lustful cries turn into horrific screams, there’s more blood than there should be and cum than necessary.

 _Shit, blood and cum on my hands_.

Rick jerks awake stupefied.

Perspiration running down his face and back as the demon smirks curled up in the corner. The house is quiet when he grabs breakfast and leaves for work. It suddenly occurs to him that Lori has been spending a lot of time at her parent’s house with the kids.

That morning when he walks into work he can see that everybody is already assembled in the briefing room. Rick stops mid-stride, not sure why they are there since he doesn’t remember calling a meeting. A little bewildered he steps inside the room, giving Shane who happens to be standing in the middle a questioning look. “What’s going on?”

“Come inside brother,” Shane inclines his head.

Rick does that, puts his case files on the desk and observes everyone else. They are all standing around precariously, waiting for whatever is going to come next.

“We just heard from Ed’s lawyer,” Shane says, addressing everyone in the room. “He wants to file a case against the force, some bullshit charge of police brutality.”

He clenches his jaw, fist automatically curling. “Is that right?”

Shane nods, confirming it. “That’s not all…”

“What else?” Rick probes.

“I searched the Peletier residence after Ed was arrested and Carol took Sophia to that woman’s shelter…and I found...” Shane sighs deeply. “Ah, shit…I found a website subscription to some child pornography.”

There are grasp around the room.

Rick can feel his own stomach turning. “What else?” He forces out. There’s more, he knows there has to be more. He should have just killed the bastard like he originally wanted to.

“Turns out he’s been gettin’ a monthly subscriptions from a website. Now, Glenn here is our tech suave guy so he managed to hack into the account. Turns out it’s a dummy account but the information given ain’t hard to trace back to the source…however, given the content I reckon there’s a possibility that it might be local.”

“What the fuck?” Abe explodes. “What do you mean _local_? Like we have a pedophile ring right under our fuckin’ noses local?”

“Yeah,” Shane rubs his head. “That’s what I mean.”

Chaos erupts amongst the group.

Everyone speaking at once, a rapid fire of chatter that reminds him of chickens clucking and in the midst of all of this, Rick is lost. This thing is happening, right in his backyard and he didn’t know about it. What if it had been his kids? Holy fuck it very well could have been. In that moment he wants to run home, check on Lori and the kids.

The panic is palpable in the room. They are all afraid; he can nearly smell it, that stench that is drafting into the air and so strong it stings his nostrils. Tyrese is shouting, Abe is fuming and Shane is feral, pacing back in forth. Things slow down then, pausing dramatically into a strange kind of motif where they all stand still like statues.

They don’t have time for this.

Precious seconds are ticking away and each minute they waste the criminals who did this are escaping. Rick doesn’t have the luxury of showing his true emotions; he wants to weep for those kids, sob buckets of salty sapphires.

Now isn’t the time.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rick barks.

The conversations stop immediately. Silence cuts through the air as he stands tall, firm at the head of the room, furious and stunning like the God of Mars, naked and ready for battle. They don’t need morose words and soothing phrases, they need power, domination—action.

“Glenn,” Rick demands.  “You are going to take a small team and work day and night to hack into that account. Shane, I want you and Abe all over the crime scene, sweep the entire fuckin’ residence if you have to. I want statements from all the neighbours surrounding the area.” Rick spins suddenly. “Tyrese, you will personally handle the case with Ed’s lawyer and make sure that fucker isn’t aware of what we have on him. Report back to me with all the information you have. Now get moving.”

They all jump, each of them running to their respective posts and positions while Rick moves like a hurricane into his office. Once the door is safely closed he screams; tossing his papers across the room, knocking everything he could reach off his desk. The suppressed wrath he kept locked up and chained is thrashing within and he reacts instantaneously, slamming his fist into the wall several times.

The demon has found a way out, crawling from his mouth splitting his face in two. Rick braces his hands against the desk, head hanging low covered in shadow. This is how it was always going to be. He knows that now, the demon cannot be inhibited any longer, it must be set free. One cannot live without the other. There will be no reconciliation; no atonement for his kind, no reprehension or absolution.  

There will conversely be a river of mayhem and blood.  

The noise causes Shane to knock on the door before entering the room. “Rick? Are you okay?”

By then Rick is composed, panting heavily, lip curling into a snarl.

 “Whoever did _this_ , whoever thought they could come into our town and corrupt our people with their filth, must be out of their minds to fuck with us.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Katia for editing this chapter.
> 
> Song feature is Prison Sex by Tool.
> 
> Thoughts?


	5. Divided I'm withering away.

_~*~_

_Thank You, Elvis_

~*~

Rick dreams he is surrounded by fruit.

Mountains of lush oranges, pears, pomegranates, grapes, pineapples—everything his heart desires. He doesn’t waste time; hastily indulging in anything he can get his hands on. He gorges avariciously, stuffing his face and chewing with such vigor his jaw aches. The juices gush from his lips, each bite is better than the last. The texture is wonderful, so sweet—so delicious he can barely control himself. After a while things turn stale, the fruits grows rancid on his tongue. It's not long until his throat is blistering; no matter how much juice is squeezed from the fruits he is still parched.  

A shiny apple catches his eye.

This—he can tell—isn’t an ordinary apple. For one thing, it is ruby red, magnificent against the rays of the sun and it stands alone in its singularity. Rick crawls through the mountain of fruits, crushing some with his heels in order to get to this _one_ apple. When he is within reach he snatches it quickly, brutishly taking a bite. It melts on his tongue, the decadent juice alone quenching his thirst. It isn’t until he draws back, gazing triumphantly at his prize, does he realize that the apple isn’t shiny at all, but a pasty yellowish purple.

The inside is brimming with puss, bright blue fungus and black worms.

Rick feels his stomach wrench.

All the beautiful fruit transforms into a repulsive wasteland, filled with Flies, Beatles and Maggots swarming everywhere.

He stutters awake, floundering in his sheets and inhaling a sharp breath. The remnants of the dream shaking him to his core, but instead of dwelling on it he pushes it aside, cataloguing it for another day.

These horrid dreams are so frequent he’s become almost desensitized to them. They range, of course, from most grotesque to least. This dream in particular is on the lowest scale. 

Sunlight is streaming through the window and Lori is fast asleep beside him. With a quick glance at the clock he realises that it’s after seven am. It’s Saturday, which means no work and he’s got the rest of the day to spend with the kids.

Rick crawls out of bed, brushes the taste of that bad dream out of his mouth and goes downstairs to start breakfast. Carl is the first one at the table, blurry-eyed and intolerably famished.

“Can we go fishing today Dad?” He asks devouring the eggs Rick places in front of him. “Patrick says his Dad takes him all the time.”

Rick hates fishing.

It’s boring, tedious and he can’t catch a damn thing.

“Ask your mother.”

“But she’ll say no!” Carl protests.

Rick sips his coffee, deliberating for a moment. It’s been awhile since he’s spent time with his son and they are long overdue for father-son bonding. “If she says no, then I’ll convince her.”

“If who says no?” Lori asks coming downstairs with Judith.

“Mom,” Carl starts. “Dad and I want to go fishing today.”

“Absolutely not,” Lori replies immediately.

“Why?”

“Because Beth is going to Tutor you today and you promised to get a better mark in your math, that’s why, hun,” Lori responds, placing Judith in her high-chair.

“She came last week and I did well on my math quiz,” Carl bemoans. “Please, I promise I’ll do better, just this once!”

“I said no Carl,” Lori says sternly. “Finish your food, she’ll be here shortly.”

“Dad,” Carl beseeches staring at him.

“Lori…” He begins. “I did promise him we would spend the day together.”

“You made promises without consulting me?” She bites back. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here, Rick.”

“I’m not,” he says, scratching his chin. “Well, I reckon it’s been awhile since we’ve spent some time together—”

“You would, if you were here more,” she snips, tending to a now fussy Judith.

“That’s not what I meant,” Rick abates. “How ‘bout we forgo the tutorin’ this week? Or post-pone it? If Beth agrees to come then we can go fishin’, deal?”

“Fine,” Lori agrees begrudgingly. “I’ll call her and see what I can do. You go get dressed now and we will talk about this later.”

Carl leaps from the table happily, running upstairs to his room to get ready. Rick leans against the counter sipping his coffee, steadily ignoring the look Lori is giving him.

“It ain’t right,” she says finally.

“What ain’t? Lettin’ the boy have fun every once in awhile?”

“He should be focused on his studies,” Lori hisses. “Now he thinks he can slack off just because his Daddy says so.”

“What do you want me to do? Go back on my promises?”

“Talk to me about it first,” Lori snaps. “If you had, I would have told you he had a tutoring session today.”

“You’re right,” Rick concedes. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Lori barks, her face turning bright red. “I want you to do better.”

There it is—that look of dissatisfaction he loathes. He nods, coming to the slow realization that nothing he ever does will be good enough for her. They finish their breakfast in silence, with the exception of Judith’s gurgling sounds.

Rick showers after and grabs his finishing rod from the garage. Carl is ready to go, sitting shot gun before the car is even fully loaded.

“Ready?” He asks when he gets in the front seat.

“Born ready, Dad.”

~

Things don’t go as smoothly as planned.

First, Rick forgets the fishing bait at home, so he has to run to the store to buy some. Then he makes several wrong turns to the lake and gets them lost for two hours. By then Carl is seething beside him and Rick’s mood isn’t any better.

When they do finally reach the lake, it’s jam packed.

There are kids swimming everywhere, parents in beach clothing and the price to rent a boat is far too expensive. This is the last straw; Rick drags a screaming Carl back to the car saying that they can go finishing another time. On their way back to town Rick must have made a wrong turn because he doesn’t recognize the area at all.

“Damnit!” He yells, slamming his hand against the steering wheel.

The gravel road is one-way, he can’t possibly turn around with the forest so close; he’ll have to see where it leads and turn around when the road gets bigger. At some point Carl falls asleep, it’s hot and sticky and Rick is suitably miserable.

There is someone up the road.

Thank goodness—he hasn’t seen anyone for at least ten miles. Hope blossoms in his chest; perhaps this person can tell him how to get the fuck out of here. He slows down, driving very cautiously on this road, careful not to hit the pedestrian. As he draws closer the person in question becomes clearer and Rick can’t help the way his heart jumps.

“Do ya have a permit for that?” Rick asks, rolling down the window.

“Nope.”

That damn kid is wandering down this path like it’s nothing.

Like he’s done it a thousand times.

The whole thing is unnerving to him and yet there is something about the forest and Daryl that makes it seem like he’s right at home. Not to mention the gigantic crossbow strapped to Daryl’s back or the various assortments of squirrels and rabbits he has in his bag.

“What are ya doin’ out here?”

“Huntin’,” Daryl says matter-of-factly.

He doesn’t slow his strides or stop to look at Rick.

“Well,” he sighs. “Can ya tell me how to get outta here? I’m kinda lost.”

“Where are ya tryna go?”

“My son and I were goin’ fishing and—”

Daryl stops, then pivots sharply to face him causing Rick to react quickly and slam on the breaks. The abrupt halt sends Rick's torso lurching forward and he heaves a sigh of relief when Carl is un-jarred by the movement. When he finally looks up Daryl is staring at him bizarrely, like what he said was peculiar to him. 

Then again Daryl probably thinks he's some closeted rich prick who doesn't give a damn about his wife or kids. There is an awkward silence between them now. He isn't sure what to do or say next.

It probably would have been better if he just kept driving. 

Daryl shifts beside him, adjusting the strap on his crossbow, subtly trying to peer into the front seat. “He yers?”

“Carl? Yeah, my eldest son.”

“Alright,” he nods. “Come with me. I’ll show ya a good spot.”

Daryl leads, Rick follows.

They go down a winding road that is so deep in the forest Rick’s not sure his truck will make it, but Daryl keeps pushing onward. Daryl slows down in front of him, signalling to get out and join him. It’s a bit of the struggle to wake Carl. They hurry to grab their stuff and heads out into the unknown. He’s not entirely sure what he’s expecting when he steps through the clearing, but it certainly isn’t this.

Rick blinks disbelievingly, freezing mid-stride.

There are crystals, literally dancing on the deep blue. It’s marvellous and he feels unworthy to gaze at such grandeur. Carl is screaming excitedly and Daryl lights a smoke, a stark contrast to nature’s beauty that has Rick’s heart caught in this throat.

Yes, he thinks. This will do just fine.

Daryl’s eyes flicker out to the lake and eventually slide over to his. _Would you like to live beneath the sea?_ He mutely asks.

Indefinitely.

~

A blue lagoon.

The water is shimmering with vast arrays of diamonds, sapphires and minerals that capture the light so splendidly it raises the hairs on his arm. It looks so deep, so wonderful that he can barely tear his eyes away. He wants to take a dip, shed this layer of old flesh for a new one.

This water would rejuvenate his soul, in a higher—purer way. And he’s sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he’ll find exactly what he needs plunging in those still waters. The place is secluded, hidden behind a cavern of forest and foliage so they are completely alone.

Rick is stupefied, every nerve ending in his body tingling with anticipation.

“Dad!” Carl shouts at him across the bay.

His head jerks in their direction, immediately understanding their distress. It becomes apparent that they need help dragging a small rowboat off the deck and into the water. The whole exercise doesn’t take long, maybe five minutes or so and suddenly he’s wildly afraid.

When it's done Daryl has this look about him, the one that people get when they’ve done their duty and are now deciding to retreat.

“Stay.”

It’s more of a demand, something he would say to an animal and instantly he sees his mistake. Daryl recoils, taking a step back on the deck, the sunlight gleaming against those harden muscular arms.

It’s been weeks since that night in the motel.

He can remember it vividly, Daryl wanton beneath him and their bodies thriving together with lust. The taste of Daryl is still on his tongue, flooding his mouth and weaving into his cells. Every time he closes his eyes he can see him, naked, unbound beneath him begging to be owned and claimed.

Fuck, if they were alone right now he doesn't know what he'd do.  

They haven’t spoken since that night, since Rick decided that he didn’t want to be a monster anymore. A decision he has come to despise every single day. 

Yet, Daryl is so close, too close and it’s fucking with his brain—with his decisions.

Making him deliberate them and shit.

Can a leopard change his spots?

Perhaps with some acid bleach and sheer will of the imagination. However, he is weak—they both know it and eventually he’ll implode.

It’s only a matter of time.

“You might as well say yes,” Carl cuts in knowingly. “My Dad doesn’t take no for an answer.”

Daryl smirks, clearly amused and then turns to Carl. “If ya insist kid.”

“Let’s go. We are losing the light,” Carl chimes impatiently.

They grab the supplies from the truck and jump into the boat. Daryl rows them into the middle of the lake where the water is nearly black. It takes a moment for Rick to help Carl put his life jacket on. When he is done he takes two beers out of the cooler and hands one to Daryl.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

On the other end of the boat, Carl is excitedly putting bait on the end of the fishing line hook. Unfortunately Rick isn’t having much luck, fumbling clumsily with the fish bait and then accidently getting the hook on his pant leg.

Daryl intervenes to save him from the embarrassment. He expertly puts the fish bait on, throws the line out farther than Carl on the opposite end and wedges the pole between his legs.

Satisfied with the turn of events, he plops down beside Daryl, drink in hand, staring out across the lake. The sun is high in the sky and his shirt is drenched with sweat. It’s so hot he can see Carl wiping furiously at his brow beneath his baseball cap.

Rick hasn’t been this content in a long time.

He is so grandly happy, so sublimely conscious of everything. How the sun rises high, touching the tops of the umbrella pines, the misty humid air and the golden gleaming sand at the shore. Rick is absolutely swollen with jubilation. This cove is a hidden paradise, a refuge for his growing temperament.

One glance to his right and he knows that his previous pronouncements, dedications to family, duty and honor would crumble. Being next to Daryl like this shatters all the resolve he had. It has to be a sin not to touch him, to caress the dainty hairs on his arms or to kiss down his lowering brow.

There is an injustice in not owning Daryl.

A sort of incompleteness he feels in his very soul; it would be stupid to try to rationalize something different. His body sings, pitching high with vibrations whenever that damn kid is within thirty miles of him.

To deny it—to deny Daryl is to deny his own being.

He curses the heavens, then the earth, blaming them for his foolishness. Although he is only human, susceptible to all whimsical debauchery, he feels a sense of shame for his feelings. How can he be an upstanding citizen of the law, when all he has is contradictory scruples about the law?

In his precarious situation solutions are few and come at a great cost. If anyone ever found out, what is he willing to risk for Daryl? Shared family warmth, the well-worn jokes, the coy familiarity of his wife and children? 

For what? Frequent rondevues at a sleazy motel? Crazy, sporadic sex that would turn his world outside in? 

Rick rubs his chin, conflicted.

This isn’t the time to dwell on such things, especially with his son so near and the weather so agreeable. Instead he pushes them aside, filing those thoughts for another day and enjoys just being here.

“Used to come here all the time,” Daryl comments randomly. “Merle and I…”

His gruff voice breaks the serene silence.

“Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes…not really…”

Rick gives him a sideways glance. “That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know…I guess it’s what I’m supposed to feel…”

Rick frowns, not sure what to make of that. “Were ya close?”

“Not particularly,” Daryl shifts in his seat, uncomfortable now.

More silence.

“I just…never mind…”

“What?” Rick urges, curiosity burning in him.

“Feels like…holes…ya know? A bunch of em…like they can’t be filled no matter what…”

“I get it.”

“I try to put tape over em or stuff em with shit, but it doesn’t stick—it doesn’t stay…ya know?”

Rick nods slowly. He does know.

“Shit, Joe would kill me if he ever heard me talk like this,” Daryl laughs, it’s self-deprecating and there is nothing remotely funny about it.

The detective in Rick knows that Daryl has just confirmed something he has suspected for a long time. It’s no secret around these parts, but to hear it out in the open makes him feel very sick. The puzzle pieces are all sliding together, piece by piece, inch by inch.

Daryl is staring at him now—those eyes holding an ocean of secrets, pain, emotional and physical abuse too cosmic to begin to comprehend.

He wants to tell Daryl that Joe will die if he ever lays a finger on him ever again. He wants to say that he’ll protect him—that Daryl shouldn’t worry because he is here now. In the end he says nothing, turning his face away and sipping his beer so consciously aware of Carl it hurts.

It would be inappropriate, to say such things in front of his son.

Instead he changes the subject. “I didn’t know you hunt.”

“Yeah…” Daryl equivocates. “Just a hobby…”

“Seems more like a hobby to me…I reckon ya come out here often? To get away from the city?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Daryl mumbles, finally taking a sip of his beer.

“Dad,” Carl calls. “Where are all the fish?”

“I don’t know,” Rick replies. “I guess they're sleepin’.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Carl grumbles.

“Well, I doubt they are willin’ to come to their deaths,” Rick says back causing Daryl to laugh beside him.

“I’m hungry though.”

“Do you want to call it a day? There’s always next time and we can come bright and early.  Plus, your Mom will be wondering where we are.”

“Fine,” Carl grumbles bring his line back in.

“What do ya say? Lunch on me?”

“Burger King,” Carl belts happily.

Daryl looks hesitant. “I should be getting’ back.”

“Why?” Rick finds himself demanding. “Alright, let me give you a ride—”

“S’alright,” Daryl interrupts. “I walked here, plus I still got some more huntin’to do.”

“Will you teach me how to use your crossbow? Please?” Carl begs.

“When yer arms get long enough kid,” Daryl grunts, rowing the boat to the bay. When they reach the beach they unload everything back into Rick’s hulking truck.

Carl is trying to show Daryl that his arms are indeed long enough. They debate for a while, Carl adamantly not being dissuaded. With a mischievous glint, Daryl hands his crossbow over to his son, who struggles to lift it off the ground.

Rick laughs heartily at the face Carl makes. It’s one of exertion and miserable recognition that his arms aren’t long or strong enough to lift the bow. Daryl takes it back, easily swinging it over his shoulder and then pats Carl on the head.

“Next time kid,” he says encouragingly.

Daryl’s arm flexes around the strap, his muscles bulge. The action so sexy Rick is sorry he didn’t notice his sleeveless shirt before.

Dear God, he wants him.

Not passionate carnality—not selfish craving of _take take take_ , but something else. Rick wants something deep; it’s obscure and obfuscate, but he wants it all the same.

A brush of unsure lips, wispy grazes of fingertips exploring uncharted flesh. He wants cheerful laughs that are musical during the night, or softly spoken secretes of their past. Rick yearns to see Daryl’s eyes in the morning light, awaking sleepily from bliss. He is desperate to peek inside Daryl's brain and unspool all of his hopes, wishes and dreams. He craves movie nights, snuggling on the couch or candid intellectual talks on a winter’s windy day.

These explosive feeling are _not_ red hot.

There are not rampant, scorching its way through his core. The fire burns alright, but it’s languid and steady, not at all tempestuous laying wake destruction and a trail of carnage.

In reverse they are quiet, tranquil—like a cool summer’s day.

Rick smiles, eyes crinkling with mirth and heart soaking with joy. This day—brimming with silence, mystic language and a conceal prelude—makes everything seem so saccharine.

A new beginning.

Of what? He isn’t sure.

The unknown excites him, more than he ever thought possible.

~

They open the door bursting with gladness.

Both of them filled with cheap burgers, smelling strongly of musk and sweat, yet they can’t stop smiling. Carl is babbling about a baseball game they need to go to and Rick is already agreeing even though he detests baseball. 

When they enter the kitchen Lori has just started dinner.

“Welcome back my boys,” Lori kisses his cheek. “Gosh you stink.”

“Thanks,” Rick laughs.

“Mom,” Carl grins ecstatically. “We had the best day ever!”

“Oh,” Lori grins. “What happened?”

Rick takes Judith out of her highchair and balances her on his lap. “Well, the fish were sleeping so we didn’t catch—”

“Who cares about that,” Carl cuts in. “I held a crossbow!”

“Did you?” Lori gives Rick a pointed look.

“Yeah, Dad’s friend Daryl was there and he had a crossbow with him. I held it and he said when I get bigger he can teach me how to use it. Isn’t that so cool? I mean he’s a skilled hunter since he caught those squirrels, but do you think I can have one when I grow up?”

“Daryl as in Dixon?” Lori says sharply.

Carl shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m going to see if Patrick will take us fishing next time, because honestly Dad you suck at it. If it wasn’t for Daryl, we would still be lost in the woods.”

Lori whirls on Rick furiously. “Baby, why don’t you go upstairs and shower before we eat?”

“I’m stuffed,” Carl replies. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Lori says through gritted teeth. “Now go.”

Carl stomps upstairs, taking three at a time. The silence in the kitchen is deafening, Rick knows the shit storm is coming and he wants to kick himself for being so stupid. He should have told Carl to keep their little adventure between the two of them.

Now his wife will take it upon herself to be the moral compass. Similar to Shane in that regard, both equally narrow-minded with fixed prejudices.

It’s something he has come to expect in the years they’ve been married. Lori’s constant worry about what other people will think. Her need of approval from the people in this small town.

However, for some reason her disapproval of Daryl seems personal.  

It grates on his fucking nerves how condescending she can be, how she can openly degrade Daryl and look down her nose on him. Who the hell is she to judge anybody? Just because his last name is Dixon, does it mean Daryl is automatically guilty by association? Rick clenched his jaw tightly, his resolve strengthening with each passing minute. Attacking Daryl felt like attacking him and he could not allow Lori to do that.  

Lori stood steaming near the stove, hands on her jutted hips.

“Rick,” She seethes brimstone.

“Yes,” He responds, not hiding the challenge in his voice.

“What in hell possessed you to bring a prostitute around my son?”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Katia for editing this chapter.
> 
> Send me some love <3


	6. Up to my neck soon to drown.

_~*~_

_Thank You, Elvis_

~*~

Mauve velvet weaves into the sky.

Sinuous like blackstrap molasses, inclining into the heavens, forcing the sun rays to retreat. The warm air turns chilly; shadows grow longer against the even wood beams beneath his feet. Rick sits on his front porch, sloppily spread out on one of Lori’s expensive couch chairs sipping vodka straight from the bottle.

A few of his neighbors glance worriedly at him, but after one fierce glare sent in their direction they keep walking.

This is what it’s come to.

Him drinking alone on his front porch because he can’t stand the sight of his wife or her pitchy voice that drives him up the wall. It’s like nails on a chalk board, there’s no way to pinpoint her voice; it just sounds like noise.

Rick presses the cool bottle to his temple.

It feels so damn good against his boiling skin. Rick thinks while he drinks, wondering exactly when everything in his life turned to shit. It has to be ever since that fight with Lori—that fight that turned their crumbling marriage into a pile of concrete.  

All their happiness ruined by a few callous words.

He wishes she hadn’t said it.

If only she hadn’t pushed his buttons, forcing him to strike back like cat-o'-nine-tails laced with contempt. Christ, he should have been more tactful. He should have lied like he originally planned to instead of taking everything she said about Daryl so personally, but her words had been so poisonous, so vindictive that he could not remain complacent.

_What the hell possessed you to bring a prostitute around my son?_

A panic had erupted inside of him.

Did she know about Daryl’s sexual solicitation? Of course not. She couldn’t possibly know anything about that. In defense he had shot back a venomous reply, shouting and raving at her for her damn ignorant disposition. Who the fuck cares about what other people will think? Who the hell cares that he’s a prostitute? Lori’s argument was valid and that’s what he hated about it.

She was right.

How could he expose his son to someone like Daryl? It was stupid, pure foolishness to think otherwise. This was a small town, everybody knew everybody and there was no way Daryl’s nighttime activities went unnoticed. However, Daryl was his friend and he didn’t give a damn about what people thought. His temper hit the roof as they exchanged gun fire across the room, each trying their best to pierce flesh.

_He’s a damn kid, Lori. You’ve got some nerve to look down your nose at him._

_It doesn’t change what he does for a living!_

_Do ya actually think I’ll let anythin’ happen to Carl?_

_He’s an impressionable young boy Rick!_

_So, let me get this straight. Bein’ a prostitute will rub off on him? Is that what you're sayin'? That he’ll wake up one day and say ‘Hey mom I want to have sex for a livin’?’”_

_Don’t you dare mock me—_

She didn’t know anything about Daryl.

_Carl is my son too! And I feel that you should have talked to me about it first instead of bringing a prostitute around my son._

What the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

They were in the middle of nowhere, not to mention lost on top of that. Did she seriously expect him to somehow find a phone and call her? To beg her permission to be around Daryl? He remembers how he had clenched his jaw so tightly his head began to hurt. A part of him had prayed that she wouldn’t see right through his façade.

Despite what she thought, he didn’t care, he would still continue to see Daryl no matter what.

Rick rubs the back of his neck, mind flashing back to that damn kiss that felt so right, so tender and so fucking veritable that it made him ache with longing. Every time he closes his eyes all he can see is Daryl, smell him against his skin or envision those eyes that haunt him in the night.

Self-deception isn’t working anymore.

If he is truly honest, it takes everything in him not to drag Daryl back to that shitty motel and fuck him raw. He feels slightly feverish, out of control with his emotions. Lori had stared back at him with something else, something akin to fear when he had given her a frosty look, one that could freeze the ground solid.

 _Fuck what you feel_. 

She had flinched and he knew that the argument was over.

At least for the time being, but as always she couldn’t let things be. She brought it up again and again and again and again day after day until he wanted to stab his ear drums out. On this particular evening Rick had turned red, then torn through his house like a hurricane looking for some liquor to help quell the screeching banshee still ringing in his ear.

By nightfall he was very drunk.

Sitting jaw slacked on his front porch, staring up at the black canopy with star shaped holes cut through it. The world blurred around the edges, he swayed slightly in the crappy chair imagining what it would be like to pluck a star from the sky.

That would be nice, he thinks and drinks.

To have a flaming ball of light cradled to his bosom—eventually it will incinerate his flesh, melting the skin right off his bones.

What a gruesome death, they’d say, but for him it would be the ultimate release. He sighs heavily, a lone tear sliding from his eye, because in all honesty he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

Destroying the foundation of his marriage for what? Daryl wasn’t supposed to get under his skin, dig roots and grow. They should have parted ways after the interrogation. Rick swipes at the tear quickly, feeling like his bones weigh a ton. With an enormous amount of effort he gets up, swaying on his feet because the ground is moving, spinning actually. He makes it inside, sloppily spilling Vodka everywhere.

He collapses face first on the couch.

Alcohol is brewing in his veins, twisting and swirling the toxin contaminating the blood stream. It’s not long, maybe several seconds after he fights his way through the fog that he comes to one conclusive thought.

Daryl has become a part of him.

An integral part, like a limb or an organ that he can’t function without. This realization is problematic, because there is absolutely no way he can stay away from him now. Lori is expendable, interchangeable and insufficient.

More tears—they come swiftly and violently knocking the wind out of him.

Rick lies there for several minutes, taking deep strained breaths knowing for a fact that his heart has split from his chest. The muscle is flayed, tore open wide and exposed for all to see. He stares out the window, bloodshot eyes straining against the dark house.

The sun is gone, leaving nothing but thick blackstrap molasses behind.

~

The morning brings bitter new revelations.

At dawn he crawls into his bed beside his wife, steadily ignoring the feelings drafting around him. He feels chained, to this bed, to this house and to _her_. They lie facing away from each other, Rick’s head is pounding and his stomach is turning, but he won’t move an inch.

This house is starting to feel like a prison.

The marriage vow is hollow now, just a reminder of how they were so young—too young to know what exactly forever means.

However, they both try their hardest to pretend otherwise. It’s easier this way, to act like nothing is wrong and everything between them is fine. They go about their day as usual and he pretends that he didn’t spend last night drinking and crying like a bitch.  

When he goes to work there isn’t much he can do.

Which frustrates the shit out of him, because what the hell is the point? Why be held at such a high position if he can’t actually do anything? The reality of the situation makes him want to scream like a child, beating his fist against the ground in crabby anger.

He’s got a blistering headache, vision blurring and stomach turning. It’s all irrelevant, because he and his precinct are about to get fucked if he doesn’t do _something_.

Shane is pacing beside him, rubbing his bald head and puffing like a bull.

On the other side of that door is Ed, sitting nonchalantly in the interrogation room with his lawyer. The greasy fuck managed to get the best lawyer to ever waltz into this damn parish. The juicy twist is that she also happens to be Shane’s new girlfriend.

“Man,” Shane huffs pausing briefly to pivot and then keeps pacing. “Fuck man.”

Maybe ex-girlfriend.

They were blindsided by this and Rick isn’t any less infuriated by the turn of events. To be quite frank, they were going to get screwed, if Ed continued with his case. The door suddenly opens and Andrea stands there in a tight blouse and pencil skirt with a no-nonsense facial expression. “Ready?”

Rick nods and then looks over to his partner. “Yup, let’s do this.”

When they enter the room Rick can’t help his abominable mood intensifying with one lasting look at Ed’s smug face. Andrea takes the lead. “I’ve spoken to my client and he still wants to press charges against the precinct for police brutality. Now we can discuss everything later when they issue us a court date, but I’d like to get the matter of the restraining order settled now—”

“Ain’t gonna be no court date,” Shane cuts in, glaring daggers at Ed. “Two witnesses saw Ed slip and fall off the bed. That’s it and that’s all. Hell, he must have bumped his head pretty hard to be makin’ up stories.”

“Really?” Andrea stares at him incredulously. “Because the trauma to the side of his head indicates that he was hit with something very hard, almost like the blunt end of a gun.”

Shane shrugs. “Like I said _honey lips_ ,” He drawls the word condescendingly. “I saw him fall with my own two eyes.”

“The EMS paramedic report clearly states—”

“I don’t give a damn what that shit says Abe and I saw him fall off the bed, the end. What are yer panties on too tight?”

“You misogynistic asshole—”

“Enough,” Rick cuts in,leaning against the wall tiredly. “Stick to the subject at hand.”

“Fine,” Andrea says through gritted teeth. “Ed will sign the restraining order as agreed, he will not go within a hundred meters of Carol or Sophia—”

“The fuck I will,” Ed boorishly interrupts. “She ain’t keepin’ me away from my little girl, ya hear?”

“Ed we discussed this. Part of our agreement was that you would sign those papers so we can set a court date—”

“Are all fuckin’ broods deaf or some shit? I said no, bitch.”

Shane immediately steps forward, shaking with fury. “Call her a bitch one more time. I fuckin’ dare ya?”

Ed smiles lazily, leaning back in his chair.

This is moment when he realizes that he _hates_ Ed.

It’s inhuman how much he would love to rip out his throat, watch the blood spit out of his neck and pool around his body spasms.  “That’s enough for today,” Rick says his voice signalling finality. “We will take him back to his cell.”

“Like hell you will,” Andrea grunts. “After what happened, do you honestly think I’d trust you with my client?”

Rick bristles.

This man—this _thing_ that might be linked to a child pedophile ring; this man—who almost killed Carol and his own daughter, this man—who is defecating all over Byromville with his fucking filth.

This is who she gallantly refers to as her client.

He wants to laugh, to grab her arms and shake her silly. Everything is backwards, night is day and day is night.

“Yer client?” Rick drawls condescendingly. “The man who beat Carol and Sophia to a bloody pulp? Who terrorized them for years? The sick, slimy bastard who ain’t different from dog shit? If we are speakin’ ‘bout the same person then yes, I’ll escort him to his cell. Any further inquiries, Ms. Harrison?”

Andrea glares at him and then petulantly gathers her things, turning to speak lowly to her client before standing. “If he comes back with more bruises, I won’t hesitate to prosecute each and every one of you. Shane, walk me to my car please?”

He watches them leave before turning back to Ed.

The man that was so cocky before has now visibly shrunk in his seat. Rick stares down at him, hand fiddling with the handle on his gun. “I’m not sure what’s worse…” He circles Ed before coming to stand behind him. “The fact that you’re still here or how stupid she is for defendin’ ya?”

Ed shrugs dispassionately, but Rick can see the sweat accumulating on his forehead. “I guess she likes the money. Hell, maybe after I finish with Carol I’ll take that sweet piece of ass out.”

“Is that right?” Rick laughs.

It’s a bleak, twisted sound that makes Ed shudder.

“Yeah,” Ed responds. “Carol never could take a hit but Andrea…well, let’s just say she looks like she is beggin’ for it—”

The white light burns bright.

It blots his vision, obscuring it until all he can see is spangled rays of blinding light that singes his core. This fury is swift, callous—a ravenous monster throbbing for carnage and malevolence. His lip twitches, curling over his teeth while reason and rational slowly dissipate him, until all he can do his feel his blood boil hotter and hotter.

Something thrashes within—whispering dark things into his ear.  

Rick growls, low and deep, a subtle warning.

“—bet she’d look good,” Ed continues, smacking his fat lips together. “I reckon she ain’t ever had it rough like that. Shane can’t do that to her… nah he’s probably too soft. She’ll need a real man for that, someone to remind her that she ain’t shit. Just a set of wet lips—”

Rick attacks, smashing Ed’s meaty face against the edge of the steel table.

The sound echoes throughout the room, Ed screams and thrashes, but Rick grips his head tightly, digging his nails into his scalp, holding his head down against the hard surface of the table.

He rips out his Colt, pressing the barrel right into Ed’s stupid, empty skull.

This is it—the end for this fucking bastard. _He’ll kill him_. If God is his witness, he will end his life right here and right fucking now.

It was always going to come to this.

Ed provoked him, probed with his disgusting words and perpetuating grotesque behavior. This man is scum—he deserves to die and Rick will personally send him to hell.

“You’re like cancer,” He sneers, like a lion toying with its prey. “A parasitic worm feedin’ off the livin’ is the only way ya can survive.”

Ed is a whimpering mess beneath him, crying—pleading to be let go—to be saved. 

There is no heaven for people like him. No redemption for his sordid soul. One look into his face and he can tell that Ed is beyond all of that.

Rick will deliver him alright.

“The only way is to extract ya is nice and slow…” He cocks his gun, struggling visibly not pull the trigger.

“Rick,” Shane barks entering the room, leaving the door wide open. “Let him go!”

He doesn’t move an inch.

Keeping his eyes steadily on the target, finger curled dangerously around the trigger. Vaguely he can hear Shane’s voice, but it’s murky like he’s underwater. Everything sounds so far away, it’s like a forest thick of foliage and he can barely find his way out.

There is so much noise.

Loud banging noises, people shouting and Ed crying, but Rick is delirious, drunk off power and butchery.

It would be so easy, one hit in the right position and Ed would surely be dead. There would be so much blood, staining his hands, flooding the floor. So thick, so red—so _beautiful_. If only Ed’s lifeless body would drain completely.

Rick doesn’t feel high, there is no adrenaline pulsating through his veins, no hyperactive rush to his limbs. Instead something black, marble and twisted is permeating in his core. He wants Ed dead so badly, wants to see his soul leave his body, wants to see the light fade from his eyes.

He wants that.

Shane takes a threatening step, hand on his gun and face fixed with determination.

“Rick, let him go.”

That tone—he knows it too well. It’s steely, tough and pure like titanium. Rick looks up, finally noticing how beyond furious Shane is, a caged bear ready to roar.

He releases Ed.

Holstering his gun and then taking a step back from his chair. He gives the prisoner a wide berth and resolutely ignoring the cries of pain. Rick does so mechanically; as if he were filing papers or taking inventory not at all like he was holding a gun to a man’s head ready to shot him in cold blood. Shane stares at him like he’s never seen him before—like they are strangers.

Perhaps they are.

They share a look which is not brotherly; there is no comradery in their eyes. Rick keeps the gaze steady, a silent challenge. Two alphas with their hackles rising, teeth bared ready for a fight. Shane stalks forward, hand locked around his gun like an anchor.

“Take a walk.”

The rage is simmering, primarily at the base of his spine but moving upwards. They are glaring at each other, each unwilling to back down.

It’s Glenn who stumbles into the room—unknowingly entering a ring against two champion fighters. “Rick, we need you in the briefing room.”

He nods, following Glenn out of the room.

This isn’t over—he knows that. Whether Shane will let this go is entirely up to him, but he’ll be damned if he ever got dissuaded again.

Ed is filth, plain and simple.

There was no doubt in his mind that he needed to be eliminated.

~

There are some days much more confusing than others.

Some days work doesn’t appeal to him and he’d much rather be out there fighting bad guys, kicking asses and taking names, instead of sitting behind a desk and ordering people around. He has fallen back into the lackluster routine that bores him infinitely to tears.

The only thing that keeps him sane is salacious thoughts of hasty rendezvous with Daryl. Only now that fantasy has turned to ashes in his mouth.

Daryl is avoiding him.

When he finally got some time to himself to escape he went looking for Daryl. Desperate for some kind of temporary release to ease his soul, but Daryl was nowhere in sight. Not on the street corner or near the pub and Rick wouldn’t dare go to the Dixon residence unless he had a death wish.

In between shifts he took it upon himself to find out exactly _where_ Daryl is. Technically he should be at the station, buried in a mountain of paperwork for Ed’s case.

At the moment this is taking precedence.

Two hours ago he spotted Daryl entering the pub across the street. How exactly Daryl was able to get into a bar without having his I.D. checked is still unknown to him. So far, nothing worthy of concern has happened. It’s a pretty calm day, hardly anyone on the streets, so Rick has the ability to be inconspicuous. He parked on the opposite side of the road and kept his body low so that nobody would recognize him.

Watching isn’t illegal.

There are some degrees of surveillance that may in fact become misconstrued, especially when the parties involved are not aware they are being observed.  However, consider the dire circumstance he was willing to ignore that. In fact he was willing to ignore how stalking is very illegal in Georgia, but he can’t seem to stop himself. 

It’s been a week since he’s seen Daryl.

During Daryl’s absence he spent most of it thinking about the Lagoon, how beautiful the water looked crystalizing over the lake. Then his thoughts spun, lying splayed out on the golden sand completely naked was Daryl, a feast ready to be devoured. It was an image he masturbated to, right before crawling into bed beside his wife.

He needed to see Daryl.

“Fuck,” Rick sighed rubbing his forehead.

He thinks about driving away, contemplates putting the keys in the ignition and going back to work. Rick is just about to when the pub door opens and Daryl walks out.

There’s a painful lurch in his chest when he sees him, dressed in a red t-shirt with the sleeves cut off along with black pants and signature combat boats. The wind blows his hair about, his eyes slant against the harsh sun and Rick can’t look away.

A magnetic pull stirs low in his belly, he wants to go to him, to kiss him, to fuck him and then who knows what else. Involuntarily, his hand moves towards the door, he’s about to open it and shatter the illusion, but stops when he sees someone come out behind Daryl.

Everything becomes distorted.

The man is older, _much_ older.

With greasy, stringy, black hair, an unkempt beard and sweats in the middle of fucking June. Everything about this seedy man sets alarm bells off in his head.

His eyes strain to see a face, but he’s too far away. Daryl is speaking now, hastily and the man in question is nodding. Nothing about this conversation is cordial, Daryl is tense his body angled away and his face is fixed in a grimace. The man is responding, spitting rapid fire and leering in Daryl’s personal space. It looks like a standoff, where Daryl would rather be anywhere else.

Rick shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders uneasily as he continues to watch the events unfold in front of him.

It isn’t until the stranger reaches out, his hook like fingers grazing the top of Daryl’s bicep with mock affection, does he spring up.

The action turns his stomach.

He strains to angle his head, desperate to get a glimpse of the man who had the audacity to put his hands on Daryl.

A slimy smile adorns the creatures face—it’s Len from the tailor shop down on New Street, speaking intimately to Daryl, caressing his arm, his skin, polluting it.

Rick feels the rage building in his chest, hand curling around his Colt. The rage feels white-hot, blinding his vision.

Len is a traitorous bastard.

There is a moment—one that he almost misses due to his fury. Daryl jerks his head to the left, an alleyway, secluded and away from prying eyes. Its right beside the pub and Rick knows he can’t allow this to happen, won’t allow it.

They walk together, Daryl leading and Len following.

The sight is _foul_ —twisting sharp in his gut like razors, because Len is wearing a grotesque smile, lip curling over protruding fangs and eyes bleeding crimson. The demon is reflecting back to him, mocking him. Rick moves on impulse nearly tearing the handle off in an effort to get out of the car as fast as he can.

He knows what his has to do.

To kill the demon, first he must become one.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this.
> 
> Man, you guys rock!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts <33


	7. Prayed like a martyr dusk to dawn

~*~

Thank you, Elvis

~*~

Dragons spit fire, betwixt the alleyway and gruelling concrete.

Their language is harsh, esoteric, mostly grunts and angry slurs rapidly forming into harsh words. Rick hangs back, stalking behind the front of the building enclosed in shadow. They speak low, voices drifting off masked by the wind so he can barely make out what they are saying. He wants to inch forward, but that would risk exposure so instead he watches.

Len is jabbering, moving side to side, pacing back and forth—literally twitching with anxiety. His dirty sweat pants drag on the ground, his face is covered in a film of perspiration.

It's odd, them together, in fact it's downright _suspicious_.

Rick has never seen Len within ten miles of Daryl and he's lived in Byromville his whole life. His mind takes a dark turn, one he can't derail even if he wanted to. There is only one likely explanation for why Len would know Daryl and the answer is staring him right in the face. The answer he's been trying to avoid, trying to rationalize, trying to evade with everything in him because if he did acknowledge the truth he would implode. These questions he has need answers, these answers need questions and so forth and what not. Now is as good time as any to start actually asking them.

Suddenly he feels stupid, explosively idiotic.

Feelings are traitorous, they clouded his judgement, destroyed his clear vision turning it opaque. What the hell could he do? He was a slave to them, like the rest of the world he revolved around impulses and whimsical desires. This sentimentality for Daryl was going to dismantle him, limb by limb, cell by cell until there was nothing but a globe of mold-less clay. Saccharine turns sour, the flowers curdle and wither and Rick does nothing to quill the vinegary sludge that steeps on his tongue.

Daryl is coiled tightly, like a cobra, his slit eyes following every jerky move Len makes.

He barely says two words, but when he does each word is low and deliberate as if he took his sweet time formulating the response. There is a swift moment when Len stops pacing, turns sharply to give Daryl a withering glare.

Whatever he said, Len clearly doesn't like it.

"The fuck ya mean!" Len exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "I paid yer twink ass the last time!"

More hushed words from Daryl.

"It won't change shit," Len sneers, spitting on the ground. "Now I want what I paid fo' or else ya can kiss our protection goodbye."

When Daryl doesn't dignify that with a response, Len lashed forward, curling his hand around his neck and slamming him against the wall.

There isn't much Rick remembers hereafter.

He doesn't recall intervening, prying Len's callous hands away from Daryl's neck. Or how he wrestled Len to the ground, shouting and raving obscenities. He does distinctly recollect the slight twist of Daryl's lips or the way his eyes glazed over in cool expectation, like he somehow knew it would end this way all along. It's troublesome and makes him feel all kinds of freaked out but he hides it by subduing Len.

"What's goin' on?" Rick asks, his knee wedge in Len's lower back.

"Nothin' Officer," Len speaks hastily. "Just a friendly disagreement 'tween citizens. Nothin' ta get worked up over."

Rick nods stiffly, and then turns to Daryl who is rubbing his neck precariously glaring at Len. "Are ya alright—"

"He's fine." Len speaks for Daryl. "The kid’s got a thick hide, he ain't hurt none. We was just horsing 'round, then I lost my temper, but we cool as cucumbers. Tell 'im Daryl."

Rick looks at Daryl and he lowers his eyes to the ground before mumbling, "We good."

"See?" Len says, struggling in Rick's iron clad hold.

There is a moment that passes between them, it's fleeting and underwhelming, but Rick knows that Len is lying. However, since Daryl isn't going to press charges and he can't confirm what he saw so he releases Len. The three men stand there facing each other, Len panting from being wrestled to the ground.

"Get the fuck outta here," Rick mutters, jerking his head to the side.

"Will do Officer," Len derides, rubbing his back. With a sly look on his face he adds. "Watch out fo' them teeth...he bites."

The acid taste on his tongue intensifies when he watches Len limp down the alleyway. The implication of his words made it very clear what type of relationship he had going on with Daryl. There's too much he doesn't know, too much he's uncomfortable with. He breathes in through his nose, trying to ignore Len's jab which was slick with innuendoes.

"Ya want ta tell me what that was all 'bout?" Rick demands, putting his hands on his hips.

Distilled silence marinated the air, Daryl in his usual defensive stance, all hard lines and distrusting features. The slow drag of Daryl's emerald eyes up to his was enough to quench the yearning and blind fury he felt for days. Daryl's absence had made him raw: with anger, regret, indecision and of course lust. In the past week he had been in torment, his job as lackluster as ever and his wife morphing into a cold, frigid bitch.

In this one look Rick could forgive everything that Daryl had unknowingly put him through.

It was utterly inapprehensible to rationalize.

The sun reflected the light glinting off Daryl's swan neck. It was then he noticed the choker encircled around his pale flesh, it's tight and constricting plain brown leather band, but with a tiny round ring clasped on. The t-shirt is predictably sleeveless; however his bare shoulders seemed gaspingly young, adorable apricot taut blades only refined with smooth, pubescent, lovely, gentle bones.

Rick gazes at Daryl laboriously, being drenched with an almost distressing convulsion of beauty assimilated.

Yes, he would gladly be a slave of his own volition if only he could gaze upon this black beauty daily.

He swallows thickly, turning his face away to hide his enchantment. There is a rapid rush of desire, motivated by Daryl's youthful beauty, the appearance of purity emitted with a resounding golden crack of passion.

"Don' ask," Daryl says, finally after several moments.

Rick sighs, rubs his forehead. "Ya know I can take ya down to the station right now for this shit. I warned ya against it, if anyone else had caught you or heard the end of that conversation you'd be in jail right now."

"Thank God for small mercies then," Daryl grumbles, shoving his hand into his pocket and taking out his smokes. "The fuck ya followin' me fo' anyhow?"

Rick glances at him. "Haven't seen ya in a few days....I reckoned..." He petulantly kicks at the gravel. "...that ya might need some help."

"Nope," Daryl responds, blowing smoke in the air. "All right as rain here, as ya can very well tell."

"That shit with Len," Rick begins, not entirely sure he wants to go down this road. "It needs to stop."

"What shit?" Daryl replies, absentmindedly leaning against the brick wall.

His answer is so nonchalant, so vague, so _condescending_ that it grates on his nerves.

Rick may not know all the facts, may not have all the puzzle pieces but he isn't stupid, he can see plain as day that the confrontation with Len was only going to get worse and it went way deeper than some misunderstanding about money.

Daryl _knew_ Len, personally and perhaps privately.

Whatever their relationship was Rick needed to put a stop to it. Their connection needed to be dissolved, Len would not be a part of Daryl's future, at least if he had anything to say about it.

"Don't play coy," Rick starts, breathing deeply through his noise. "I ain't fuckin' around Daryl. Whatever he has over you, it's best to just let me know."

"Or what?" Daryl challenges.

Rick grits his teeth in annoyance. The almost instantaneous provocation from Daryl does nothing to inspire hope for their relationship in the future. It was admirable, in a way to defy a superior and Rick had enormous respect for the guts it must take for a kid his age to be so...outspoken. Yet at the same time it was irritating the crap out of him. What the fuck was he going to do with this kid? He disobeyed his every command, openly defied him and did it all looking effortlessly unruffled.

"S'what I thought," Daryl mumbles. "Ya cops ain't shit."

There isn't much Rick can do to convince Daryl that he's on his side. No amount of talking or persuading will do that, especially with someone as thick headed as Daryl. All he can really do is be there, treat him like a normal kid in extenuating circumstances and pray that Daryl will trust him enough to tell him the truth.

"Look, I know right now thangs ain't right," Rick says. "With whatever's goin' on with Len and Joe...I know there are certain thangs ya might not want to tell me for fear of retaliation, but ya need to know that yer life is just as valuable. You matter, Daryl, regardless of what they say or whatever lies they've told you."

At first Daryl doesn't respond, he just kind of stands there uselessly staring at the ground. It reminds him of the way Carl stands when he's deliberating a decision and it makes him feel a sting of longing for his child. What doesn't elude Rick is the possibility that Daryl has never heard these words before, that the whole concept of being valuable and cherished might seem foreign or incomprehensible to him. Rick can't imagine Joe or Merle ever giving the kid any type of encouragement and for the second time he is forced to see Daryl the way he truly is.

A broken down, roughed up kid, with no parental guidance and in desperate need of assistance.

There is something so sad about it, so cripplingly depressing that he's not sure what to say next. The silence between them is heavy and oppressive, weighing down everything hopeful he said earlier.

"Why?" Daryl asks so softly.

"Why what?"

"Do ya care?"

The answer is the most obvious thing in the world.

"Who else will?"

                         ~

Rick watches the sky transform from red, to pink, to yeller.

A flat terrain of luscious green cornfields auspiciously nestled in the small borders of Byromville.

There is endless countryside of rich greenery, vast and unfathomable reaching beyond the skyline. Rick's eyes twinkle as the giant sun retreats calmly into dawn. Twilight descends, the heavens had turned to a clear, purple-tinged grey, but to the west there was a ruby-red glow. The sun poured out its brilliant hot oranges and reds into the clouds like a pot of molten lava. Never before had he realised how tenuous and thin the tranquil clouds are. Wispy and frail, like for this reason alone they only exist.

It's been years since he's done this. Not since he was a boy, running around the fields with Shane trying to catch fireflies, beetles and other small winged creatures. Their chubby hands reaching, grabbing for whatever they can get as they squealed with laughter. He shifts a little; the brazen metal is hard against his flesh.

They are parked on the edge of Herschel's farm.

Both of them lying on the hood and windshield of Rick's car, legs spread out and bodies relaxed with ease. The past few days feel like nothing, a hellish nightmare fading into obscurity. One casual glance to his right confirms that Daryl probably feels the same. The kid has unwound, the shackles of his past momentarily lifted as he watches the sunset with Rick.

"I thought..." Daryl starts, then immediately shuts up.

"Hmm?"

Rick feels likes a feather, floating and drifting against the wind, leisurely and perhaps somewhat unwilling to land just yet. He lost himself in the pungent but healthy heat which hung about Daryl like summer haze.

He should have been home hours ago.

Seated at the dinner table with Lori, Carl and Judith squabbling over what to make for dinner and whose turn it was for dishes. Instead he's here, phone shut off—most likely dead and feeling all kinds of high.

"Nothin'."

"Tell me."

"You'll laugh."

"I won't."

Daryl stalls, and then continues. "When I was a kid...I thought that when the light came...I reckoned the monsters...with knives under my bed would go away."

"Knives?" Rick echoes, perplexed.

"Ya..." Daryl says softly. "Moon crescent knives, gleamin' in the moonlight...like them Arabian Night's daggers...I see them, in my dreams."

It seems, to him at least, that this is some unspeakable code for something much more sinister. What child would have dreams of men with knives hiding under their bed? Monsters sure, that's expected but _this_? It's something else entirely, something different, an anomaly for sure.

Rick doesn't know how to respond to that. Not sure he wants to acknowledge exactly what is being said here and now. If he did, it would shatter the illusion, this wonderful bubble of happiness he created for himself and Daryl.

"I don't know..." What to say?

"Don't say shit," Daryl grunts. "Yer good at that."

Suddenly encumbered by the abrupt harshness of Daryl's voice, he turns towards him, shifting on the windshield of his cruiser. "Wait now, hold on a second—"

"S'just a stupid thought anyhow," He jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his smokes.

Moving impulsively, in a sham effort to retrieve the cancer stick from his knobby wrist, Rick bats Daryl's hand away knocking the cigarette onto the grass, several yards away from the car. Daryl glares up at him, flustered like an angry, petulant fowl. It's in this moment Rick realises he is hovering above Daryl, with the kid imprudently trapped beneath him.

"You should quit..."

Without responding Daryl just stares up at him, impassively with those wide eyes.

Those emerald eyes that have agonized him for months.

By this time he was in a state of arousing excitement, bordering on insanity. This image, Daryl beneath him while he stayed suspended high has been etched deeply into his mind. Luckily for him, he also had the cunning of the insane. By a series of stealthy moves, he tries his best to mask his lust to Daryl's guileless limbs.

Rick was mortally afraid that some act of God might interrupt them. They are both breathing heavily; he is completely immobile with his eyes darting feverishly to the patch of pale white skin on his stomach, peeking out from beneath Daryl's shirt.

At some point he pictures Lori’s face if she ever found out, all messy with snot and tears as she repeatedly asked _how could you?_

The disgraceful way he’d have to explain to his kids why Daddy and Mommy no longer love each other anymore. Or even worse he’d become the laughing stock of the entire force.

 _Yet_ , he’d have something else, something much more invaluable.

It occurred to him then that he was willing to risk everything for this kid. A boy he barely knew for rest of his life. The trade was clearly unfair, idiotic and only an imbecile would agree to it. Somewhere deep, deep down, under rational thinking and such, he knew that Daryl had awoken something inside him.

He had poked the sleeping bear.

Before he could reconcile himself to being a monster, a silent one destined to lurk only in the shadows. At least if he did his children would be free from shame and the towns ridicule. Residual, reoccurring thoughts of honor, duty, responsibility cycle around his head. He shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be doing this but—

 _Fuck it_.

Rick moves entirely on impulse, with a severe lack of sophistication, closes the gap between them. A fatal simplistic lurch forward, their lips slide together and begin moving completely synchronized.

The gesture obliterates sanity for Rick, the feeling of his salacious lips against his, so soft and decadent unbridles something within. Groaning deeply he took Daryl into his arms and buries his face into his hair. He kisses him over and over again, sliding his tongue deep into his mouth. Shaking with repressed emotion, half-rage—half desire. He tries, for one brief moment, not to kiss Daryl but the red wine of passion draws him in.

Giving up the struggle Rick devours him.

They kiss, fervently like they were both men dying of thirst.

“Shit,” He moans, covering Daryl’s entire body.

Rick moves quickly, positioning himself between Daryl's thighs and then reaching up to cradle his face. They kiss urgently, searing hot, filled with tongue and salvia that drives him crazy. His cock thickens, throbbing with need; fluid dripped from the slit and ran down the ridge. His entire being pulsated, he thrust his hips forward and groans when Daryl does the same.

There were things he noticed, _in_ significant details anyone else would ignore but he recognized them almost immediately.

The way Daryl kissed him back was clumsily, as if he had no experience whatsoever or his severe absence of finesse whenever their lips met. After several moments of testing and tasting the waters, Rick charges ahead, dominating Daryl and leading him properly. The musical, breathy moans filled the vacant field, along with the crickets and cicadas.

This sweet boy was all his.

Innocence surrounded him, the softness of Daryl's refined silk skin and his body taut with unknown muscle. Nipping at his lower lip Rick inclined his head, brushing his thumb against Daryl's high cheek bones.

He distinctly felt blunt finger nails on his lower back, Daryl is fisting his shirt trying to bring them impossibly closer.

They pull back to breathe, Rick is ravenously licking and sucking like a leech at Daryl's delicate neck. The weight of two sunburnt arms, swaddling him and the taste of Daryl’s apple-sweet lips drives him mad.

Christ, he needs more.

Monopolizing Daryl’s immemorial fruit, singing and dancing through his pungent juices Rick feels a spark in his soul. Yes, God, yes this feels so right. Between his tactless grappling, artless thrusting the beast burst free. They consume each other, wet hot kisses that mystify him, spells, unknowable magic and magenta passion layered thick with ferocity.

_Let him stay; let him stay with me forever._

His hand trails up to rest on Daryl's lower back.

Rick stops immediately.

Completely pauses, drawing back slightly to stare at Daryl who still has his eyes closed, lips still swollen in fervor. This isn't right; in fact it's decidedly very wrong. With his index finger he experimentally traces what seems to be a large amount of scar tissue. The mutilated skin is a contrast to the downy velvet skin of his cherub face. It's the rigid and friable texture that is alarmingly disturbing to him.

He gawks at Daryl with a questioning look in his eyes.

It takes several moments for Daryl to look at him, adorably shifting out of his impeccant cotton stupor.

“Who did this?”

The question is ignored.

He sighs, retracting his hands from the warmth. “Daryl, what happened? Did Joe do that to you?”

Time is immeasurable as Daryl stalls, turning his entire head away from his piercing gaze. He can no longer ignore this, the jabs, the self-deprecation, the rude responses that seem to suggest more than simple cowardly abuse. What the fuck is Joe doing to him? The truth is slowly coming to the surface. He can’t ignore it any longer especially when a life, so singular and abstract is at stake.

If Lori is his roots, coiling around his neck and strangling him to the ground then Daryl is irrevocably his wings, flying free and spanning higher than the eye can see.

Daryl's face hardens, twisting into that all too familiar fictitious grimace of lingering abhorrence.

“Are ya gonna fuck me or what?” The question comes out harsh and cold, steel eyes glaring back at him.

Rick knows, like's he always known that he can't have roots _and_ wings.

                         ~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. 
> 
> Thanks to Seta_Katia for editing this chapter <33
> 
> Thoughts?


	8. And I would...

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

Tulip’s in June.

They bloom, vividly in their entire, virtuous splendor, opening wide and exposing their petals quite soon. Every summer they follow the same pattern, peeking up from the earth, wedging themselves between the cracks and crannies of concrete and burst with color.

At first they are the size of almonds, miniscule and effete, but buried within is a cavernous of chromatics.

Rick knows this, seen it close to a dozen times, but still it amazes him: a tiny flicker of greenery, rupturing from the confinement of the industrialized world. There isn’t much he understands about nature, so he doesn’t try to. All he can really do is admire it, the oatmeal flecks of green, scattered around oaks that are auburn and durable.

Yes, that’s something he’ll remember always.

He isn’t sure how he got here. Not exactly sure what it means to be _here_. All he remembers is that Daryl had snarled at him, daring him to retreat into his shell like a shivering crab. Nothing much happened after that, no rude awakening or long droughts of heavy turmoil.

His mind is blank as he stares at the ATM machine, withdrawing copious amounts of cash from his credit card. The money dispenses and he heads back to his car, shoving the wad of cash into his back pocket. Daryl is silent in the front seat, staring out the windshield, thin lips drawn into a heavy frown.

Rick doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

They drive onward and Rick feels nervous butterflies flap in his stomach. He doesn’t allow himself to think too much; thinking is the enemy. Instead he sort of drifts, goes through the motions of driving, hands on the steering wheel, foot on the gas pedal, to distract himself. Daryl mumbles something and Rick pulls over to the gas station.

Daryl disappears inside, then reappears back in the car with a plastic bag.

They drive some more. Until finally he can see that sorry excuse for a motel coming up off Highway 95, the sordid sign even worse than the last time he was here. Rick pulls into a parking space, kills the engine and they both walk towards one of the rooms near the far end of the motel.

“Fuck,” Daryl hisses, when he tries his key in door number 22.

“What is it?”

“New ownership,” Daryl grunts. “Listen you’ll have to rent the room tonight.”

“Why?”

Daryl gives him a dark look. “’Cause that new fucker who owns the place won’t rent it out to me no more. Says I’m too young or some shit.”

This must be a sign, some sort of fucking smoke signal that he shouldn’t be here. However, he ignores it and nods slowly. “Alright.”

Rick walks to the front desk. There is no urgency in his steps; he is just sort of blindly moving one foot after the other. He doesn’t think too much, thinking will make everything a hundred times worse. When he steps inside there is a man at the front desk. It’s not the man that immediately catches his attention; it’s the dark patch over his left eye.

He looks like a pirate.

“Hello,” Rick says. “I’d like to rent the room number 22.”

There is a long silence, where the man just glares at him with distain. The hostility is something he’s used to since he is in his cop uniform, but the angry glint in his eyes suggests something else. This man is new to Byromville, he can tell almost instantly. It’s clear he took over this place from the Bates family who used to run this motel. “That kid with you?” He demands, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

Rick brings himself up to full height, placing his hands on his hips, furious at what the man is implying. Fuck this prejudice town, who the fuck cares that Daryl is a Dixon?

“That’s none of your concern,” Rick snaps, his hackles rising.

The pirate mumbles something under his breath before he finally barks “Cash or Credit?”

“Credit.”

The pirate hands Rick the machine and then goes back to just sitting there idly. When the transaction is complete the man hands him his receipt rudely. Rick snatches the keys off the table, making sure to get a good look at his name tag before going back outside.

Philip Blake.

He better pray to God Rick doesn’t catch him speeding.

~

Liquid courage burns his throat and taste like battery acid.

It proves to be ineffective after several gulps, because he’s still so nervous. He stands near the window, hands twitching and his entire body buzzing with alcohol and desire. It’s too late now to go back, too late to rewind time and stop himself from putting the key inside the lock and opening the door.

Tequila never did taste good going down.

Daryl is in the shower.

The condoms and lube are on the dresser. This is actually happening and he still can’t quite seem to get a grip yet. His hands are shaking, thrumming with energy and he can feel the fever of longing build until it becomes insoluble. At last when he is tipsy and can’t stop himself does he finally start to _think_.

_He’s about to make love to Daryl._

Not fuck the shit out of him, not pound his ass until he can’t walk, but really and honestly make love to him. In this quiet space, in this disgusting bed filled with bugs and stained sheets he is going to worship his body and lavish it with kisses and shit.

The whole idea of penetration is not something horrid or something to be scared of. With Lori it had always been routine, resounding effort to rebuild what had been destroyed between them through fights and boorish words. _This_ is something else entirely; it’s pure, untainted, greater than lust but not quite love.

Rick takes another drink, savoring the burn and trying his best not to gag.

_Are ya gonna fuck me or what?_

Or what.

The question had been posed. If he didn’t fuck Daryl then what? Would he leave? Gather up all of his belongings and storm out of Rick’s life? In that moment he had panicked. The thought of Daryl out of his sight, seeking pleasures from Len and who knows who else filled him with something terrible. Rick decides then that he needs to put aside all his questions about Joe, not that Daryl would answer any of his questions anyway. Instead Rick chose to ignore it, ignore everything his gut was screaming at him not to.

He didn’t want Daryl to go; he didn’t want their day to end.

Before he could fully think, one word escaped his lip. A simple “yes” tied the noose around his neck and now Rick is dangling over wheatgrass.

The water running in the bathroom stops.

The bathroom door opens and Daryl emerges wearing nothing but a flimsy white towel. His mouth went dry as he stared at the boy in front of him. Daryl’s shoulders were broad and his waist narrow, his happy trail disappearing down into the white towel.

Rick takes another drink.

There is moment of shuffling, Daryl is putting all of his belongings into one of the drawers and cleaning the room a little. Rick stares at him unabashedly, gazing until he has to force himself to blink. This is real, this is actually happening.

God, he feels sick.

His hands are trembling, his body is shaking and he doesn’t know how to stop it. The butterflies flap unceasingly in their cage.

“Put the money on the table,” Daryl instructs, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes.

He did as he was told, breathing deeply through the transaction. Daryl counted the money and then shoved it into the pocket of his pants that were lying on the floor and then puts the rest of his clothing into the drawer.

“I got two conditions,” Daryl mumbles.“Now since ya paid I’ll pretty much do anythin’. We can do dp, anal fisting, rimming, assplay, shitplay, ya can fuck me with a dildo, but it can’t be more than 5.5 inches. My rules are ya can’t fuck me raw and no hair pullin’ neither.”

Rick doesn’t understand half of what Daryl said, but he nods anyway.

“Any questions?” Daryl asks, expectantly.

“What the hell is rimmin’?”

Daryl laughs. “I’ll show ya next time, but since we’ve got all night I reckoned we should just stick to the basics.”

Hastily, he agrees to those terms and an awkward silence fills the room. It isn’t until Daryl sighs and steps towards him that he suddenly panics. “Wait…I’ve never….with a man…”

Daryl regards him impassively.

“There ain’t nothin’ to it…s’like ridin’ a bike,” Daryl grins cheekily as he steps forward, invading Rick’s personal space. “S’all about mechanics really….ya just gotta hop on and enjoy the journey.”

The assault of his senses is a visceral, the strong smell of clean soap, shampoo and body wash cascade all around him. Daryl is still wet, trails of water beading down his toned chest. Rick puts the bottle of Tequila on the night table and cups the back of Daryl’s neck.

“Don’t worry,” Daryl whispers, both of their noses touching. “I’m an excellent teacher.”

Their lips touch, briefly at first, light pecks delicate like flushing fuchsia flowers. The slight touch sets his nerve endings on fire, tingling raw sensations rips its way down to his core. Rick steps closer, fusing their lips together and begins kissing him more urgently. Daryl is all roses and raw honey, succulent drops and decadent blueberries.

A burst of flavor; so very superb and transcendent, that Rick falls deeply into damn near a paralysis of joy. Spangled rays of colors are dancing before his eyes and he pulls Daryl closer, opening his mouth and teasing him with his tongue.

This is so new, so rapturously new that he doesn’t try to decipher it.

All too soon heat invades his loins, stirring his cock, filling it with desire. Gentle touches turn rough, hands exploring uncharted flesh as he grips this boy in his arms. Their kisses begin to become sloppy; Rick is no longer conscious of how he is moving and instead is doing everything on impulse. Their tongues wage war, thrusting and dancing, lips crushing and devouring.

Their hands claw at each other and Rick is tearing that towel off faster than he can think.

It drops to the floor in an audible thump and then there is nothing between them. He moves quickly, exploring Daryl’s narrow, pubescent hips before moving downwards to grasp his firm, taut ass.

Rick starts kneading plush globes and grunting in Daryl’s mouth.

He spreads Daryl’s cheeks, groaning softly when he finds how smooth and silky his skin is. _Oh, Christ_ —this must be what heaven feels like.

The air crackles between them and he is assailed by how much he cares for Daryl—how much he wants him. This is more than fucking for him; he wants to make Daryl feel good too. Rick isn’t an idiot; he isn’t a fool, he knows exactly what this is. Daryl is doing his job, something that he was forced into by men like Joe and Rick is fully aware that he is taking advantage of him.

He’s no different than Len.

 _It’s not too late_.

To turn back, to stop this train wreck before it happens. But he can’t or won’t, which in this context means the same thing to him. Rick is like a junkie looking for his next high, his arms are busted and bleeding profusely with jagged holes, spouting puss and green liquid, but he doesn’t care he needs his next fix.

Daryl lies down on the bed, stretched out beneath him while he is still fully clothed. It’s kind of awkward as Rick struggles to get out of his uniform. He puts his belt on the night table, accidently knocking over the bottle of Tequila. He tints with embarrassment, but Daryl just shrugs it off. Then, like a complete loser, he fails to get his pants off, because his shoes are still on and by then Daryl looks completely and utterly bored. When Rick finally manages to get naked he is panting, flushed deeply feeling stupid and embarrassed.

“S’alright,” Daryl smiles and snorts. “That was kinda funny.”

Rick returns the smile and crawls on top of him, resuming kissing his lips and down his neck. “I’m glad you find me amusin’.” He says, pulling back a little to gaze at Daryl. “Are ya okay? Is there anythin’ ya need to feel more comfortable?”

Daryl’s brows shoot up in surprised. “Nah, I’m good.”

“I’m sorry….I’m not very good at…” Rick swallows thickly, wishing he could stop his hands from shaking.

“S’alright…we’ll go slow.”

They continue kissing languidly, discovering each other’s mouths. Rick has the pleasure of tasting and suckling on Daryl’s lips until they are ruby red. He’s so content in this moment, filled with such devotion and he takes his time to gaze at Daryl in his naked beauty.

Rick is fascinated by the wispy hair that lightly covered his chest and his hard cock, which lay nestled on his stomach. He’s seen men naked before, in the locker room and of course sometimes in the showers at work. Seeing Daryl displayed like this, a dish ready to be served and eaten, is something else.

After a few minutes of light kissing Rick moves his hips forward and startles when his cock brushes against Daryl’s thigh.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

The movement itself, brief and swift, kindles ardour. Rick moans, takes Daryl into his arms, fisting his hair and kisses him deeply. Daryl gasps, mouth automatically opening as Rick claims his again.

“Split me open with yer cock.”

Rick inhales sharply at the soft, yet insistent command and all the preconceptions of his universe shift, as his mouth latches onto Daryl’s with a hungry assurance that there was no place on earth he’d rather be.

The hand on his lower back dips down, sliding innocently between his ass crack and Rick jerks his entire body forward. Their kisses have turned brutish, more tongue and teeth clashing together in an unholy battle of sin and then dear God, Daryl spreads his legs. 

Their cocks slide together and Rick shudders and spasms as he feels the slick, virgin skin for the first time. It’s not like he was expecting; Daryl’s long, thick cock is oozing milky white pre-cum making it slippery and wet. Rick thrust his hips forward, gripping Daryl’s hips so tightly he’s sure he’ll leave a bruise. “Fuck.”

Words fail him and he lets his instincts take over as he jerks his hips forward, relishing is the sparks of pleasure that jolt through him. It strikes Rick then that they have become insurmountable lovers, wide-eyed and high strung off passion.

In Daryl’s frantic embrace, filled with inept kisses and self-indulgent thrusts, he escapes himself. Forgets all the responsibilities of children, family, duty and honor and gets lost in the feelings. Rick growls, attacking Daryl’s neck again finding the pale skin heart-rendingly beautiful and unmarked, elegant like a swan.

When he pulls back he finds Daryl shivering slightly, his lips red from the bristling hair scratching against his delicate skin.

Daryl reaches over to the night stand, digs his hand through the plastic bag they got from the store and produces a bottle of lube and condoms, he hands them over to Rick.

Rick stares at them for a moment, helplessly, before the panic comes, flooding back full force. The serenity is gone, replaced by poisonous doubts that pollute his insides.

“I don’t know…” He trails off, feeling useless and imprudent.

Daryl eyes appraise him carefully, before he opens his legs wider. “I’ll show ya…”

Venus came and went.

Rick feels slightly delirious as he watches Daryl, legs extended wide and his puckered hole waiting and presented for him like an offering. “I’ll need prep first….ain’t been that long, but it’ll be a learnin’ experience fo’ ya. Stick yer fingers in me.”

He squirts lube on his fingers and his hand, lathering it up so it’s not cold. Then he pours some over Daryl’s entrance, marvelling in how it drips down his smooth, hairless crack. Rick enters using his index finger, holding back a cry of ecstasy when he feels Daryl’s pucker hole engulf his fingers—so tight and warm, sucking him in. He pushes in and out, salivating at the movement and watching Daryl’s face for any signs of discomfort.

Instead Daryl looks kind of bored—worse than that, impassive.

Rick enters two fingers, pumping them in and out, finding Daryl’s aloof reaction to be somewhat disheartening.

“Are ya alright? What can I do to make it better?” Rick asks, desperately.

He can feel his confidence deflating. If Daryl doesn’t enjoy this, then he might as well stop right now. God, what the fuck he was thinking doing this? Of course Daryl wouldn’t enjoy this! It was practically rape. Rick begins to retreat, slowly drawing away from Daryl’s body in an effort keep the bleak reality at bay.

For the second time, Daryl looks genuinely surprised. He grips Rick’s hand tightly, guiding him back to his entrance. “Yer doin’ fine, just curl yer fingers and pump a little faster….like this…”

Rick does what Daryl suggested, shoving his fingers in deeper, curling them slightly and pushing them in and out before his fingers strike a bundle.

“Shit!” Daryl cries and then laughs lightly. “S’alright…do it again.”

He slides his fingers out, then pushing them back in watching as Daryl falls apart beneath him. There is a misty haze, a boundlessness that comes with watching Daryl yelp and cry, whimper and quiver under his fingers.

By the time Rick has worked out a nice rhythm Daryl’s skin is clammy, his brown hair sticking to his face as he slowly strokes his aching cock and fucks himself on Rick’s fingers. 

“I’m ready” Daryl pants. “Put the condom on.”

Rick tears open the condom package and slowly rolls it over the head of his cock and down to the base. He’s trembling so hard he can barely put the condom on. The gravity of the situation fully weighting down on him; it’s horrible and earth-shattering at the exact same time.

“Spread my cheeks,” Daryl gasps.

He cups the plush pale globs and spreads them wide, getting a glorious view of Daryl’s puckered hole which is lightly swollen from the abuse by his fingers. “Puts some lube on yer cock…then ease in.”

Rick does so hurriedly, nearly spilling half the bottle in his attempt to go quicker. There is a special sensation bubbling up from his gut, butterflies are flapping wildly and he can hear his heart thundering in his rib-cage.

Holding the base of his cock he eases in, passing the first ring of stiff muscle and watching it stretch over his cock to accommodate the girth.

It’s nothing like cunt.

Not wet, squishy, squelchy, dipping fluids and pungent smells of lavender and vanilla.

The heat feels like hell-flames, searing hot, constricting and coiling around his cock like an iron fist. It’s everything he hoped for, yet nothing at all like he was expecting.

Daryl is _so_ tight.

Inflexible, indomitable heat and warmth— _Dear God_ he almost cums just from the sight.

Rick nearly convulses, shoving his cock in all the way until he bottoms out. The feeling is indescribable, it’s better than anything he’s ever done before. Once he is back in control he chances a look at Daryl.

The kid is all gooseflesh and grit; eyes clenched shut and lips faintly parted.

“Daryl…?”

“I’m okay…” Daryl puffs softly. “Just need a minute to adjust…”

He presses a kiss to Daryl’s shoulder blades, careful not to crush him or make any sudden movements.

“Alright,” Daryl says finally. “Move.”

Rick pulls all the way out before thrusting back in, it’s incredibly hard at first, because Daryl is so tight, but he manages to do it easily after several deep thrusts.  “Like this?”

Daryl nods. “ _Ugh_ …yeah…not so fast…slow…”

Rick buries his face in Daryl’s neck, plunging his cock in and out; getting lost in their mutual delirium. It feels like a furnace, so pleasant, so splendid he wishes he could melt right into Daryl and stay there forever. He puffs against Daryl’s neck, thrusting calmly, serenely like he had all the time in the world.

The kid groans deeply, hooking his leg higher and breathing laboriously.

This must be what it feels like to be beyond happiness, beyond elation and jubilation and any other inconsequential thing that isn’t this sublimely good.

“Oh… _fuck_ ….” Daryl yelps.

Rick grabs a fist full of Daryl’s hair, angling his head so he can kiss his neck savagely. He watches Daryl drift at sea, storm-tossed on a wild tempest of golden arousing bliss. Rick is drowning in his essence, the earth moves, the bud bursts into a full flower and something inside him _snaps_.

Like a piece of his former life finally falls into place, he holds onto Daryl tightly as his hips thrust forward. They fuck vigorously as Rick chases his release, marvelling at the feeling of heat wrapped around his cock, squeezing and clenching around it.

Daryl cries out as Rick strikes his prostate, the sudden jolt of pleasure flushing his face entirely red. Rick is insatiable, pounding and jackhammering Daryl’s ass, fucking him wildly, brutally, feeling his balls constrict and tense.  Rick captures Daryl’s lament screams with a lude kiss and returns them with equal fervor.

Paradise—within reach, within grasp— _God_ , he is so close.

Daryl sobs a bunch of babbled nonsense and arches his back. Rick is ruthlessly racing towards his own relief, he barely registers that Daryl has reached between them and is stroking his own cock furiously.   

There’s a swift grunt, a strange inhuman animal sound, then Daryl is soaking in his cum, squirting the milky juices all over their stomachs.

Rick fucks him through it.

Plunging his hips forward, in and out, rampant like a wild bull. He can feel his orgasm building, pending like a typhoon just off the horizon.

Rick groans low and deep, feral and crazed, balls tightening, body flexing _until until until_ —

Sequins of red and white and black explode in front of his eyes, vision blurs and his entire body judders from the impact. Rick is blind, white lights and shockwaves of torturous pleasure tear through his entire body as he shoots his hot release into the condom.

He collapses on top of Daryl, gasping loudly for air.

They are both quiet and Rick takes a moment to come back to his senses. He peers down at Daryl who is completely blissed out and glowing with a radiant red hue.

Rick manages a weak smile, feeling absolutely luminous and buoyant. God, if he had known what this would be like before, he wouldn’t have wasted so much time. Brushing some hair off Daryl’s forehead he can feel his heart swell, brimming with affection and something else. Something deeper, warmer, buried under all the decaying rubble of his heart. It’s instinctual and he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t want to, at least not now.

At some point Rick turns off the lights, crawls into bed and holds Daryl tight, enclosing him in his arms, caressing his neck and kissing his shoulder blade.

The stars are encased by a black canopy of night. He stares out the window, gazing up at nothing but the lune.

This is what happens, when Tulip’s bloom in June.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_ Kaita for editing this chapter and everyone who reviewed on the last chapter <33
> 
>  
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> Thoughts?


	9. Begged like a hooker all night long.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

A slip, a slide, a trip, a glide and Rick falls into Wonderland.

It’s a dreamy, melancholy space filled with misty tenderness, longing and enchantment. His limbs are stiff, his back aches and his thighs are burning. Muscles he’s never heard of or used before are tender and sore. Rick is delectably sleepy; time is shifting and drifting, enfolding and refolding in different ways.

Above all that he’s warm, sedated and coiled around Daryl whose light snore vibrates around the room. The pillow smells like him, fresh and radiant. Rick bushes his fingers through Daryl’s hair; which is undeniably soft, tickling his fingertips.

The sun catches the brilliance of Daryl’s facial features, highlighting the veins in his neck, sharp cheek bones, strong jawline and emerald eyes.

He cradles this moment, stroking it in the palm of his hand.

The demon is satisfied.

For now it seems like it retreats slowly back into the abyss. No red glowing eyes, claws scratching his face or grotesque creatures foaming at the mouth, beating their chest in a wild rage. In this moment there is nothing but peace, alluring and seductive, ensnaring him into false compliance.

Rick is sure his heart will burst.

There is so much, too much of something—joy, exhilaration, excitement? Everything in between and he can’t take it, it’s turning his insides into mushy, gooey liquid that sinks slowly into insurmountable warmth.  Last night was amazing, so right and so wonderful and God, Daryl was so tight, so gorgeous.

He breathes deeply, trying to comprehend the inevitable.

At some point he’ll have go home, face his wife and see the reflection of his infidelity. Rick pushes that out of his mind for now. He showers Daryl with feather light kisses down the nape of his neck.

The kid stirs, slowly, blurrily blinking several times before opening his eyes. An explosion of green and cerulean hue assaults Rick and he is besotted.

He wants to capture this picture; of Daryl stirring immured in his arms like he belongs there and absolutely nowhere else. The realization slams into him and he astounded by how much he wants this kid right fucking now.

It’s achingly delightful and it makes him feel pleasant exuberance, an illimitable energy, weaving and prancing through the air—a shapeless mass of pure, raw substance, drifting particles. There is nothing tying him down to earth, clothes shred, each and every layer.

Skin separates from bone, cells from the epidermis.

Until he becomes fluid, formless being, floating and rising _higher higher higher_ —

Rick is up in the clouds.

“Mornin’,” Daryl mumbles, adorably licking his lips.

The light caught his strikingly beautiful copper hair, the delicate skin of his perspicacious charm and milky-white face with pink pale lips. That beauty mark is even more tantalizing in the light of day.

Rick feels the pull and he responded immediately by pressing a light kiss to Daryl’s awaiting lips. They kiss slowly, Rick savouring the vanilla taste of innocence in the morning, like smooth and juicy peaches. Daryl wraps his arm around Rick’s neck and pulls him closer, nearly crushing them together.

Between Daryl’s heat and the sun Rick is all hot and bothered.

He is smitten, flaming red with passion and throbbing pleasure, his cock is swelling with every light sigh and moan Daryl makes underneath him.

 _Fuck_ , does he want to plunge in again and again, spread him wide and see what’s inside.

The precious cherub beneath him moans, eyelids fluttering close as they both sink deeper into a pool of lucid, luminous, fanatical love. Rick is all sunshine and rainbows, mythical creatures and dancing teddy bears.

“I need you.”

The words are foreign on his lips, but he blurts them out anyway. Daryl pulls away and stares at him through slit eyes, cautiously and conflicted. There is a moment of silence, one which causes anxiety to scratch at the back of Rick’s throat.

What if last night had been just business? What if Daryl didn’t want him in the light of day? He shallows thickly, wondering what the hell possessed him to say such a stupid thing out loud.

“What would ya like?” Daryl’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “We still got some time left…I reckon you’ll wanna try somethin’ different.” 

Rick shrugs, blushing crimson. “Whatever is most comfortable for ya.”

“How about I ride ya good’n proper?”

His throat goes dry.

They maneuver into position, Daryl straddles him slowly, taking his time and letting his fingertips trail down his chest. It’s like a dream and when he feels Daryl’s ass press snuggly against his hard cock he moans, deep and low.

Daryl leans over to attack his lips, they kiss roughly and savagely. Rick uses his hands to cup and spread Daryl’s ass cheeks, experimentally playing with his puckered entrance.

It’s a sin to have Daryl in this position, to want him so severely that it distorts and depraves his mind. Their lips clash together in the still morning and the breathy sighs fill the air in their musical disposition. Rick hears a symphony, strings, French horns, percussions and bass all tangled around them in this tiny room.

Rick reaches blindly for the lube.

Foggy with desire and drunk off painted rosy lips and mad with hunger Rick squeezes lube on his fingers.  He presses his index finger to the slightly abused hole and quickly inserts, whimpering when he feels the heat engulf him.

Daryl bucks into his hand, swirling his hips and arching his back into Rick’s fingers.

This fierce-eyed kid is blinking stars and rubbing his dick against Rick’s stomach at a frantic pace.  Daryl is wanton, succumbing to mindless pleasure and the sensations going on all around him.

Rick curls his fingers just like he was taught, thrusting deeper and hitting a small bundle that makes Daryl grunt and yelp, his body spasms in hot, needy yearning.

“Fuck me!” Daryl gasps, his movements are frantic.

Rick immediately withdraws his fingers, grabs the bottle of lube and a condom from the dresser. There is a moment of feeble fumbling, as he put on the condom and spread lube all over his cock. When his is finished, Daryl impatiently grabs his cock and positions his entrance over the swollen tip.

He watches with profound fascination as his cock is swallowed by Daryl, inch by inch he slides into singeing heat.

It’s _hot hot hot_ —Rick is writhing in elation and self-indulgence.

There is a swift murmur, some movement and then Daryl is churning his hips, bouncing up and down on his cock.

 _Christ_ —he grips Daryl’s hip to steady himself.

Daryl is gyrating his hips, circling them and moving up and down in a way that is absolutely wicked. Rick cries out when Daryl grinds down hard on his cock, causing an outburst of white lights to blur his vision.

A loud smacking noise fills the room as skin slaps violently against skin. Breathy moans and high pitched exclamations pierce the silent air. Fuck, he watches his cock disappear and reappear, squelching noises as he fills Daryl up with his aching dick. 

Rick is lightheaded, perspiring form exertion and cowering in bliss as he half watches Daryl ride him like he was at the Rodeo.

He won’t last long.

Not like this, not in this position where Daryl is above him, the sun acting like a halo around his head, his face flushing mulberry in pure ecstasy and his mouth parted in a silent scream.

 _Oh fuck_ —Rick dances on the precipice of his climax.

Daryl wheezes above him, laboriously moving. His perky ass raising high in the air, Rick catches a small glimpse. The pale globes are so taut, round and firm that feels his cock twitch and swell.

Daryl is vigorous, knowing the precise moments to swivel his hips in order to maximize the pleasure. There are no words between them, no sweet nothings and useless pillow talk; instead there are rough primal groping, animal sounds and vicious kisses.

Reaching forward Rick grabs Daryl’s dick, enclosing his large hand around the silky flesh and strokes forcefully. Daryl stutters, his hips momentarily faltering as he gasps loudly in inclination.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Daryl pants, then leans over to kiss him, tangling their tongues together in a ruthless kiss while Rick continues to thrust inside Daryl’s sweet ass.

The air ignites between them. Their eyes lock and all of a sudden Rick is falling.

Rapidly, disastrously, irrecoverably down down down.

His brain is shouting at him, his heart is pleading with him. It’s all too much to make sense of, especially when his balls are coiling, his cock jerks and quakes.

A quiver erupts through his spine.

There is a sharp cry, Daryl’s hole clenches around his cock as he cums between, squirting his release all over their stomachs. Rick watches, raptured by his endless perfection, the magnificent way he soundlessly cries out.

When Daryl finishes he collapses.

Rick holds him, molds him to his chest, wraps his arms around Daryl tightly and fucks him like a wild lion. He isn’t gentle as he brutally sucks on Daryl’s neck, marking his territory in a bruising love bite.  Rick braces his feet against the bed and thrusts his hips— _up up up up_ , chasing his release.

Rick practically sobs; pain, pleasure, exquisite pain, more pleasure— _Oh Christ_.

He erupts, waves clashing violently against the shore and he is momentarily blinded by white lights, his entire body tremors from the impact. Torturous waves upon waves, assault him, tearing through his entire body leaving him raw. Rick shoots his hot release into the condom, his orgasm still bursting in his veins.

Going completely lax, he pants loudly, fully aware of the weight of Daryl still on his body. Opening his eyes he laughs when he comes face to face with Daryl, who is sodden with sweat and his lips are cherry red.

“Ya okay old man?” Daryl mumbles, smiling too.

Rick is more than okay. He is delirious, wading in the bottomless waters of splendid euphoria.

“Nah,” Rick says, struggling not to let the undertow take him. “I’m wonderful.”

The heavens split, the sky opens and Rick Grimes shuts his eyes to see the stars clearer.

~

Glee is not something he’s accustomed to.

In fact it’s not something he’s sure he knows how to relish in. At work, he is content, trying to hide his cheerfulness through small smiles and idle talk with the other officers. They don’t suspect anything, of course. Rick is good at hiding secretes, especially ones that could endanger his position as Police Commissioner.

The ache in his thighs is more like a slight burn. A paradisical  reminder of what happened this morning with Daryl. Rick can’t help but grin as he recalls Daryl’s face when Rick went out that morning and came back with breakfast. They were both ravenous and ate on the bed watching shitty T.V. He remembers Daryl’s face as he tried pancakes for the first time. His mouth was scrunched up in syrupy, fluffy bliss as he devoured pancake after pancake.

Such a simplistic thing that Rick took for granted.

Pancakes are a luxury every kid should have. 

They had laughed and shared coffee from the cheap motel vending machine. It was by far the worst place he’s ever stayed, but the company made it exhilarating.

Rick tries to concentrate on the meeting they are having in the briefing room. Apparently there’s been a crack in Dale’s case and after months of going through various phone records, accounts and employees from the garage, they finally have a lead.

Dale called someone hours before he died.

That information in itself is very alarming and Rick is anxious to get a move on things.

“His name is Lou,” Glenn says, handing out the case files. “He owns a tailor shop on James Street, out near the hair Saloon.”

“What do you think he can tell us?” Sasha asks, flipping through the files.

“Nothing,” Glenn says. “Or something, honestly at this point it’s hard to say, but at least he can tell us exactly what he spoke to Dale about before he died. Maybe gives us some clues as to what happened.”

“Wait,” Abe says. “Did you say Lou? Ain’t that the same fucker who hangs around Joe and his dirty crew?”

“At the pub?” Glenn speculates. “I think so.”

“Why the hell would Dale associate with someone like that?” Shane injects, rubbing his head. “Somethin’ ain’t right.”

“I agree,” Rick spoke. “Shane and I will head down to the tailor shop to speak with Lou. The rest of you keep up the good work.”

They all disperse.

Rick and Shane jump into on the police cruisers and drive towards their destinations. The radio is on low, sun is high in the sky and Rick is smiling to himself. His thoughts drifting back to earlier that morning, holding Daryl and kissing languidly. It had been pure heaven, just the two of them, eating breakfast in that shitty motel.

There’s that feeling again, bubbling up from his chest. He can’t quite place it or exactly put his finger on it, but he can’t stop smiling.

“Ya okay?” Shane asks, staring at him while he drives.

“Huh?”

“Yer smiling,” Shane snorts. “Haven’t see ya smile like that in a while, brother…somethin’ goin’ on?”

Yes, he wants to say.

He just fucked the most beautiful boy in the world—fucked him twice. Covered the kid in his cum and then had breakfast. Instead he leans back in the seat, soaking up the hot sun and sweltering heat. “Just a good day, is all,” Rick says. “Pull in here.”

They park a block away from their destination.

The shop itself isn’t exactly pretty. It’s a little rundown, hole in the wall tailor shop that sells everything from Tuxedos to Rodeo equipment and since it’s the only one in Byromville, all the locals shop here.

When they get inside, there are a few shoppers wandering around. Rick tips his hat to the ones that he knows and moves swiftly through the store with Shane right behind. They get to the counter and Lou is standing behind the register.

“Howdy boys,” Lou says cheerfully. “What can I do ya for?”

Lou is the type of man that eats more than he can fit into his mouth.

“We have a few questions for ya,” Shane says, looking around cautiously. “We need some information ‘bout some thangs about Dale.”

“Sure,” Lou replies. “Ask away.”

“How did ya know Dale?” Shane asks.

“He used ta come by the shop,” Lou answers honestly. “He’d come ‘round sometimes for some hats, shirts, pants and other thangs I guess.”

“What did ya’ll talk about?”

“This and that,” Lou answers vaguely. “To be honest, I didn’t know him well.”

“The phone records show you were the last person to speak to him. What did ya’ll talk about?”

Lou tenses visibly. “I cannot recall.”

“I know it was a few months ago. I reckon it’ll be hard to remember right now, but if ya could try, it would really help us out—”

“I said I cannot recall. Anythin’ else Officers?”

“Look,” Rick steps in, hands on his hips. “We ain’t asking fo’ private information, we just want to know what ya talk to Dale about before he died. If you were truly his friend, you’d be willin’ to help us out.”

“I don’t know nothin’,” Lou spits. “Now, I think I’ve cooperated enough with ya’ll. If ya don’t mind I need to get back work—”

“Lou!” A voice shouts from behind a dressing room. “Why the fuck did I let ya talk me into tryin’ on a size ten? I ain’t no fuckin’ size ten.”

“Fuck yer mother,” Lou mumbles back.

“What’dya say?” The voice calls.

Then Len stumbles out of the dressing booth, fixing his clothing and tossing the size ten shoes on the floor.

Rick’s hackles rise when they lock eyes.

“Well, look what we have ‘ere,” Len smiles, slow and twisted. “Officer Grimes and Officer Walsh, what an unexpected surprise.”

“They was just leavin’,” Lou grumbles. “Bad fo’ business, I can’t have cops showin’ up at my place of employment. Ya’ll know how it is.”

Len steps closer, his greasy hair falling into his eyes. “Is it just me? Or does Officer Grimes look like the cat that caught the canary?”

“It’s just you,” Rick deadpans, his eyes cold and hard.

“Ya’ll best be on yer way—”

“Say Rick,” Len sneers, cutting Lou off. “Do ya like peaches?”

Rick glares at him.

“There ain’t nothin’ sweeter than a nice peach, especially when them juices come out… _perfection_ ,” Len licks his dry lips.

Resting his hand on his Colt he glowers at Len.

There isn’t anything he wants to do more than knock Len’s teeth in and watch him fucking choke. The urge is immediate, like red hot heat tearing through his core. He wants to smash, break and crush Len’s face into the floor. Instead he swallows it, nearly gags but he manages to stop his twitching fingers from moving, latching onto his gun and firing off a round into Len’s head.

 “…best not to pick them too soon though, ain’t nothin’ worse than a peach that isn’t exactly _ripe_ …”

The way he talks about Daryl is demeaning, appalling and vile as if he was nothing but a slab of meat, a hole for his filthy cock. He stomach wrenches at the thought, it seizes his heart in his chest to think about Len anywhere near Daryl. How often had they been together? What was their relationship?

Jealousy came, swift and unyielding as he glowered at Len.

This man knew Daryl intimately, he had seen Daryl cum, had been inside him.

Rick shudders at the thought, the images are shoved into his brain, Polaroid pictures that feel like a red hot poker ramming into his chest.

Rick unconsciously takes a threatening step forward.

The demon is there, resting casually on his shoulder, encompassing and fueling his blind fury. This rage is familiar; it clothes him and cradles his body like a new born baby.

“Watch it.”

“What?” Len responds with a coy smirk. “Ya don’t like ta share? Come on Grimes…there ain’t nothin’ better than _sharing_ a peach amongst friends.”

He clenches his jaw, glaring daggers at Len.

“No?” Len derides. “I guess I’ll have to take it upon myself to take it from ya—”

Rick lashes forward, struggling to get his hands around Len’s scrawny neck.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!”  

Shane incepts, he is quick to subdue the wild animal by grabbing his arm roughly and pulling him back.  “Hey, hey man. Calm down.”

Len barks a laugh. “Oh Lordy, touchy. I didn’t do nothin’, did I Lou?”

“Not a damn thang,” Lou confirms. “Now, I done told ya’ll to get the fuck out.”

Rick shoves Shane off forcefully before storming out of the store.

His mood considerably soured now thanks to fucking Len, he paces outside the shop, walking back and forth visibly fuming. What the hell did Len mean? If he did anything to hurt Daryl, he would fucking kill him. Shoot him in his big dumb head for even breathing in Daryl’s direction.

Christ, everything is getting more complicated.

What is Len’s relationship to Daryl anyway? Why didn’t Lou even bat an eye at Len? Is he in on it too? Questions whirl around his head and he has no idea what to do or what to think.

Everything from this morning seems to crumble now.

It’s clear that Daryl is hiding things from him, evading prominent questions and dodging all his attempts at answers. Rick is worn, tired and gaunt from everything that just happened. Daryl isn’t precious; he isn’t this wholesome being that Rick has made him out to be. Daryl is something else, something dark and secretive and distrusting.

What the hell can he do?

He’s in too deep, his feelings are to multifaceted, intertwined and looped with Daryl’s. He can’t look at the situation objectively, like a good Police officer would. The angles are all wrong, his perception is obscured, vision impaired and he can’t see things properly. He isn’t pragmatic, cold and calculating. Rick comes to the horrifying realization that he is the opposite; he’s emotional, angry, jealous and worst of all erratic.

Not to mention so damn _stupid_.

“Fuck.”

Flashes of him and Daryl this morning come crashing back, innocent, shy smiles and fleeting touches. Daryl grinning wide, his cheeks puffed with pancakes as they watched shitty cable T.V.  

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gulps down his frustration.

Rick huffs, placing his hands on his hips when Shane comes up beside him.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Shane exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “Yer cheese done slide off your cracker. What the fuck are ya doin’ attackin’ a civilian? Fuck man, we needed the information on the phone conversation between Dale and Lou.”

“Don’t ya think I fuckin’ know that?” Rick grunts.

“Well, what were thinkin’? Ya jeopardized the whole case over some stupid shit Len said.”

“Just leave me be,” Rick says, visibly seething.

“No,” Shane says, inclining his head. “Now I wasn’t gonna say nothin’, but I think it’s ‘bout time—”

“Don’t start,” He warns.

“Yer slippin’ Rick,” Shane spits. “It ain’t just about yer shitty ass temper. Ya ain’t comin’ into work properly and when ya do you look like yer a mile high or on another fuckin’ planet. That’s not even the worst of it. Lori says ya haven’t been home in days. What is goin’ on? Talk to me brother, let me help.”

“I’m fine,” Rick barks. “I don’t need yer fuckin’ help.”  

Shane stares at him like he’s never seen him before, like he doesn't know him. “Alright…fair enough…Look, I know that you know that there ain’t nobody in the whole entire world that means more to me than you do. We’re family Rick, brothers. Just tell me, what is it?”

This weight is crushing his shoulders.

For a minute he thinks about telling Shane about Daryl. He thinks about opening his mouth and articulating how he cheated on his wife with an underage kid—a _prostitute_. He thinks about saying how happy he is, how Daryl makes his fucking lackluster life worth living.

He thinks and thinks and thinks, but ultimately decides that telling Shane would be a fate worse than death.

Instead he clenches his jaw in determination, squares his shoulders and glares at Shane.

“Back the fuck off,” Rick snaps. “That’s an order.” 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this chapter <3 
> 
> RICHOONNNNNEE! fUCK YA!
> 
> okay. I'm done. 
> 
> Thoughts?


	10. Dabble in all the way down.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

Chapped lips clash violently, hungrily in their disposition.

It’s reckless, this behavior, pawing and clawing at each other like a couple of rabid animals. This isn’t initially how he imagined the meeting would go. Sure, there would be some kissing, some necking and perhaps he would even suck Daryl off, but not this. It’s catastrophic, claustrophobic, a rash tangling of frantic limbs trying to consume each other.

Daryl is up against the wall, his back scraping against the unforgiving brick.

Their lips click and clack, tongues wag and retreat in a strange dance that has Rick reeling and ready to tear off Daryl’s clothing.

It’s broad daylight.

He can hear people walking down the sidewalk, dogs barking, kids clutching their mother’s hands. The world keeps turning as he fucks his tongue in Daryl’s mouth.

Rick feels exponentially free—like he could piss on puppies, take a shit on the White House or shoot Bambi. There is nothing like this, nothing like feeling like he can fly. The rules don’t apply to him, Rick Grimes is the exception.

In this alleyway, nestling between Daryl’s pubescent thighs he is invincible.

It's been two weeks since the motel. Two weeks of nothing. No guilt or feelings of shame—nothing but insistant desire. He wants Daryl again and again; in every which way he can have him, legs spread, bent over, on any available surface he could find.

Often times he did, when he could afford it.

Their sex had been dubious at first, awkward fumbling and apologies every thirty seconds. Rick had been so afraid, because to him Daryl was like shiny glass, fragile and easily breakable. However, that notion disappeared several days ago when Daryl showed him exactly what rimming is and how hard he can come with someone tonguing his balls.

Daryl groans, thrusting his tongue deeper into his mouth and fisting his shirt.

He is broiling, sweating profusely from the heat and passion that is threatening to singe his flesh. Rick is ravenous, hastily tearing the front part of Daryl’s jeans open and shoving his hands down to cup his cock.

Daryl’s eyes fly open and his hand encloses around Rick’s wrist in order to stop him from going further.

There is a brief struggle, where Daryl is trying to back away and Rick keeps striding forward. They battle for several moments, Daryl’s protest stifled by long harsh kisses and swift fondling.

Rick is past addiction, bordering on something much more destructive, much more sinister.

At work all he does is daydream about Daryl: what he is doing, what he is wearing, how he could fuck him. These questions on a never ending triad until he sees Daryl again, lurking down his familiar alleyway, secluded in the shadows. 

God, he is out of control.

“I need to see you,” Rick grunts, practically mauling Daryl’s face. “When can we be alone?”

“Rick,” Daryl pants, placing a firm hand on his chest. “Wait, slow down someone will see—”

“Who cares? I don’t care. I crave you.”  He says between kisses.

Rick decides he’ll repent tomorrow for all of his sins, but right now he needs to be inside this kid. There isn’t much he understands about his infatuation with Daryl, only that it has derailed him, turned him outside in and inside out.

Two weeks ago he had approached Daryl behind a rundown warehouse on Peter’s Street, madder than a bat out of hell. He had paced like a bull, angry, enraged at Len’s devious analogy of _peaches_.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean anyway?

He had confronted Daryl, smoke literally blowing out of his nose and ears. He ranted, raved and broken whatever he could reach just to get an answer out of Daryl. Only he didn’t, Daryl just stared at him vacantly.

All it took was one smoldering look, filled with something red hot that made Rick harden like a rocket launcher.

It had been upon him, something— _something visceral_ and he’d bent Daryl over, against that shitty, rusting bench and fucked him stupid. God, it had been so very wrong and horrible and just plain awful, but he couldn’t stop, he’d needed to be inside him—needed to be close enough to smell him, his sweat, his sweet essence, Rick wanted to drown in Daryl.

That had been weeks ago.

It’s irrelevant for now, because Daryl is his.

Rick will deal with everything else later, but right now things are sublime.  He groans in subtle frustration, but continues his attack on Daryl’s cotton candy lips. He tries to block out Len’s smug face or his sneer when he looked at Rick like he knew exactly what Daryl tasted like. It drives him wild just picturing them together, Len’s sickly hands all over him, soiling and contaminating him.

In this moment he isn’t thinking clearly. He doesn’t want to ruin the mood by bringing up Len.

He doesn’t want to break the illusions he created; in his eyes Daryl is perfect. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, a little jagged at the sides but he can change, Rick can guide him through it and polish him up. This _thing_ with Len is temporary, if it was really anything at all. There are questions he needs to ask Daryl, answers he requires, but that can wait. Rick wants to be balls deep, thrusting in and out of Daryl’s tight, white heat.

Daryl laughs. “I reckon ya will care when yer wife finds out…”

That’s enough to slow the feverish kisses he is planting all over Daryl’s jawline. “Fair enough.”

“I gotta go anyway,” Daryl says, fixing his jeans.

“Where?” Rick demands.

“I’ve got shit ta do,” Daryl responds. “Plus, my full time job ain’t making sure you’ll always have somethin’ ta stick yer dick into.”

“Ya know it ain’t like that fer me. Believe it or not I actually enjoy your company,” Rick grumbles. “When can I see you?”

Daryl sighs, straightening his rumbled gray shirt. “This weekend should be good I reckon—”

“At the motel,” Rick says, already formulating a way to get out of his house. They correct their clothing and Daryl looks around cautiously.

“Alright, see ya then,” Daryl mutters and nods to him before walking in the opposite direction of the alleyway.

~

The road now stretches across open country.

Old mountains, pale fields, crisscrossing and intersecting roads all make up the same sleepy town of Byromville. It takes Rick several hours to work up the courage to go home, he sits on his car, sits in his car and eventually drives it to his house. The road there seems foreign, strange and distorted like he’s never been here before.

It takes an enormous amount of effort to leave his driveway.

He doesn’t want to see Lori—her face in particular, just because he’s afraid she’ll know. With one lasting look into his lying eyes she’ll know exactly who he is. For the past two weeks he’s avoided her and her questions that seem to grow harsher exponentially whenever he’s within the vicinity. 

Today isn’t any different, the minute he steps through the door Lori is upon him.

Those eyes he used to love are now an avalanche of disappointment and dissatisfaction that seems to drag him under. She has Judith on her hip and she’s on the phone dancing around the chord while making lunch for the kids.

Rick shuts the door, avoids her questioning laser glare and takes Judith out of her hands. Luckily for him Judith comes willingly, squirming to get close to her Daddy. Form that moment on lunch is a tense, unsatisfactory affair, filled with Carl jabbering on about the town fair that Rick is only half listening to.

“What time are we leaving?” Carl asks, chewing vigorously on his tuna sandwich.

“Huh?” Rick asks, dumbly.

“The town fair,” Lori barks, her face morphing into something atrociously vicious.

“Oh…” Rick mumbles. “What time do ya want to go, buddy?”

“Now,” Carl says. “I’ve been talking about it for like ten minutes Dad.”

“Sorry,” He replies sincerely. “Yer old man just spaced out. Go get ready and I’ll take you—”

“ _And_ Judith,” Lori snaps.

“Right.”

“Cool,” Carl jumps up from his chair and goes to grab his backpack.

And then there were two.

“I’m not goin’ to pretend to know what the hell is goin’ on with you. I won’t.” Lori spits venomously. “You’re out all hours of the night. Not coming home so I have make up excuses to the children—”

“Look, about that, I’m sorry—” Rick apologises, the guilt clogging his throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lori concludes fiercely. “Whatever it is… _whoever_ it is…. you are not goin’ to make a fool out of me Rick. Not in front of our children and certainly not in front of the people of this town.”

They stare at each other for a long time.

He forgot that she knows him. That she knows the most intimate details about him and has known since they were sixteen years old. Of course she would read between the lines, the blank spaces he refuses to fill in and draw her own conclusions. This shouldn’t surprise him, yet it does and he feels the guilt coming back full force. In that instant he wants to tell her everything, plead with her to understand that his temporary insanity turned out to be not so temporary.

That he might possibly have indecipherable feelings for a boy.

All along his optic nerve are visions of Daryl, his eyes, his nose, his smile—his _everything_. Rick wants to tell her he’s never wanted anyone so badly, never felt so consumed by lust and desire in his life. Rick opens his mouth, an apology dancing on his tongue when Carl comes pounding down the stairs.

“Let’s go or we’ll be late!”

Rick swallows thickly, nods once, then twice before getting his daughter ready and leaving the house. Once he is out the door and Judith is in her car seat does he acknowledge the crumpling look on Lori’s face, when he never confirmed or denied her accusations.

The fair is in full swing when they arrive.

Father Gabriel is the first to greet them in the church backyard with tokens for the children and candy corn. Carl immediately runs off with Patrick and Rick wanders a bit with Judith on his hip. After they’ve played several games and Judith has nibbled on a little cotton candy he makes his way over to the Abraham’s family, who are sitting with Tyreese and Karen.

“Abe,” Rick greets, nodding to Rosita. “How ya’ll doing?”

A chorus of ‘good’ follows.

“Aw, is she getting a little restless?” Karen coos. “Let me take her for a minute.”

Rick hands Judith over and Tyreese hands him a soda.

“This is some event,” Rick says conversationally. “Thanks again for putting it on. The community appreciates it.”

“No problem,” Karen says. “Too bad Lori couldn’t make it though. She put so much effort into planning the whole thing; it’s a shame isn’t it.”

Rick nods and sips his drink so he won’t have to respond right away. Luckily Sasha and Bob choose that moment to walk over.

“What are you guys talkin’ ‘bout?” Sasha asks, after Tyrese gives her a pop.

“Rick was just thanking us for putting on the fair,” Rosita smiles. “It was a collaborative effort, that’s for sure, but the kids need this.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Sasha replies. “Tyreese Jr couldn’t get enough of the slides.”

“And I’m pretty sure I just lost Carl forever to that Jumpin’ Jamboree,” Rick chimes in.

They all laugh.

“We need these events,” Abe says. “Not just for the children, but for the community. There ain’t nothin’ stronger than a community that builds together. That’s what we need to be doin’ constantly, buildin’ and makin’ sure our kids are thrivin’ together.”

“How about a toast?” Rick grins. “To the woman that help make the community stronger?”

“Hear, hear.” Abe replies.

They all drink and toast with their sodas, chuckling a little at the ridiculousness of it.

“Also, a second toast,” Tyreese says. “To the best damn Police Commissioner to ever live!”

“Oh. No, no please—” Rick protests.

“Come on, it’s true,” Tyreese cuts him off. “When I was some broke brother lookin’ for work you took a chance on me. Now I can’t speak for everyone else, but you were the first person who saw potential, who looked at me and saw past the color of my skin. I appreciate that. Yer a good man, Rick.”

Daryl immediately flashes before his eyes.

Bent over the table, riding him, up against the wall, fucking him senseless— _pain, pleasure, exquisite pain, more pleasure_ —Oh God, he doesn’t deserve this. Rick stares at his soda, a raw vinegarish taste flooding his mouth.

He feels nothing but immense disgust.

What the hell is he doing with this kid? All of this—their respect, their loyalty and his family—just thrown away for some mind blowing sex? Was it even worth it?

His stomach turns.

“Hear, hear,” Abe says again.

They all toast and drink, Tyreese pats him on the back. Rick forces a smile, sips his drink quietly while the group changes the subject. The soda taste flat, like detestable, sweet, warm water that is nearly impossible to swallow.

~

The underworld is a world apart.

That’s primarily what separates us from them, what makes us the good guys and them the bad guys. In terms of black and white it makes sense; Rick has lived by this philosophy his entire life, never questioned it or thought differently.

They were the villains—the deranged dogs of society that needed to be destroy.

Rick had sworn to eradicate them, one by one through justice, duty and all that other shit. Now, none of that makes any sense to him. How can he uphold honor and fairness when behind closed doors he is doing the exact opposite?

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. It almost noon and even with the air conditioning on full blast he is still sweating. In his office he’s watching the time tick by. It goes slowly, every minute feels agonizing and Rick wants to smash the damn thing off the wall. 

 _Fuck_ —it’s too damn early to be thinking this much.

The weekend can’t come fast enough and then he can bury his guilt along with his cock inside Daryl. He doesn’t want to think about how he’s become the enemy, about how he bridges the gap between the two worlds and is now dancing dangerously in the middle.

Rick wants to feel.

He wants exploding sparks, desolating passion and he wants it all right now. He wants to make Daryl laugh again, he wants to see him tell silly stories and jokes and above all else he doesn’t want to destroy what little happiness he’s found.

“Rick?” Tyreese says, knocking on his door.

“Yeah?”

“Emergency meeting in the briefing room.”

“Alright, I’m comin’.”

He pretends to clear some stuff off his desk, stall a little for a time before he grabs his coffee mug and heads to the briefing room. By the time he gets there everyone is already waiting, Glenn and Sasha taking the lead by standing up at the front passing out files.

They all look up when he enters the room and he snags a seat near the front next to Shane. They haven’t spoken since Rick told him to fuck off. It’s not as awkward as he thought it would be, Shane mainly minds his own business, occasionally twirling a pen around in his hand. Rick isn’t sure if he should speak to him, not sure he even wants to open that can of worms. They both neglected to get any viable information out of Lou and the entire visit had been a colossal waste of time, hopefully Sasha and Glenn were able to dig up something more substantial.

“Alright,” Rick says. “What do ya guys have?”

“Well,” Glenn replies. “It was hard since nobody in their community really wanted to talk to us, but we managed to get the mother-load of information. Since you guys weren’t able to talk to Lou about what he spoke to Dale about before he died, Sasha had this brilliant idea to go another route. It was just genius in my opinion; I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before.”

“Okay,” Rick nods.

“So, she suggested that we speak to the spouses, even if they didn’t have any relevant information they might be more helpful in sharing information in the future and that’s how we got a few exclusive testimonies from Lou’s wife—Patricia.”

“Is she a viable witness?” Shane asks.

“Yes,” Sasha answers. “She gave us her testimony and she wants full immunity if it ever goes to trial. I was honestly surprised by how quickly she gave up the information.”

“Well, at least we have Patricia’s testimony,” Shane injects. “Could she tell us who else is involved?”

“She gave us a list of names,” Sasha says. “Their names match with the IPE address we found on Ed’s computer. All we need to do is wait for our tech guys to come in and they’ll trace it back to their email accounts.”

“How long?” Rick demands, his eyes skimming over the files. “We don’t want them thinkin’ we’ve got any leads so they skip town.”

“Three or four days maximum,” Glenn responds. “Patricia says the group calls themselves the Claimers.”

“Dipshits,” Abe scoffs. “What kind of dumbass name is that?”

“I have no idea, but apparently it’s named after their leader. That’s not even the worst of it,” Glenn says, his face ashen from all the information.

“When it rains, it fuckin’ pours,” Abe mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who knew this shit storm could get worse?”

“Who’s their leader?” Tyreese asks.

“Well, Sasha ran his name through the system considering it isn’t that common around these parts. That’s what I meant when I said things couldn’t get worse,” Glenn says grimly. 

“Yeah,” Sasha chimes in. “The guys got a rap sheet a mile long, ranging from arson, to vandalism, to rape and the worst of it human trafficking. I had some trouble locating his information, because he’s jumped from foster home to foster home to institution, before that, nobody knows shit about him. The guy was either in prison or out on his ass.”

“The fishy thing is, he’s been in Byromville a few years now and nobody noticed,” Glenn says utterly perplexed. “I mean I knew he was creepy but—”

“Glenn,” Rick says sharply. “Who is he?”

“His name is Joe Claimer, but I guess we all know him as Joe Dixon.”

All the air got sucked out of the room.

Rick stares at Glenn like he riding a tricycle while juggling plates. He stares at him like he’s grown six heads and a limb. He stares at Glenn like the demon erupts from his rib cage, spraying blood and guts everywhere.

He nearly swoons because this is some sick fucking joke, some demented ill-timed illusion that will soon end with them all falling over and laughing their asses off. It’s not real, none of this is. The punch line will come, it will break the barricade of silence and they will all go back to some semblance of normalcy.

“What?” Rick barks, completely astounded.

“Yeah, as it turns out Joe isn’t Daryl’s uncle. They aren’t even related.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this chapter. Have fun on your trip <33
> 
> Also thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter you guys seriously rock! Okay, things are going to pick up and it will get very dark from this point on. 
> 
> You've been warned. 
> 
> Thoughts?


	11. I...I (Duality)

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

And the rain of shit and piss will kill them all.

They were drowning in raw sewage, muddy—darken waters that smell so _foul_ even the heavens retreated. And for Rick there was absolutely no way to escape it. After Glenn’s revelation they stared at each other for several moments, Rick incredulously before the words finally set in. Those words, nasty and bitter and so disturbing unlocked the heat in his bones. Rick twitches, his entire body threatening mutiny as they sink in, seeping into his pours, coiling around cells and membranes.

If Joe isn’t Daryl’s uncle then who the fuck is he?

That man—who is possibly deranged, vile and despicable is living in Daryl’s house, settling in and sprouting roots. Images of the past, brief and strident strike his vision all at once. The first is Daryl at the diner with Joe and their argument which Rick thought nothing of. He remembers clearly now, Joe’s hand, flexing and immobile constricting around Daryl’s bicep.

 _Don’t ya ever fuckin’ touch me_ —Daryl had yelled.

The bruises, split lip and blackened eye as Daryl stared at him and begged with knowing, oceanic eyes, filled with hurt and emotional decay. The second image flashes like a bolt of lightning; Daryl at the Lagoon, sad and desolated— _Joe would kill me_. No fear, just a rather blanket statement as if it were a fact, a cold rationale calculation.

Rick tore out of the building like his ass was on fire, jumping into a Police cruiser and shredding out the parking lot, the tires squealed, grinding viciously against the ash-fault.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rick screams slamming his fist against the steering wheel.

The sirens blare as he jams his foot against the gas, dodging wayward vehicles and beeping his horn so people move out of the way. There’s no time, he should have left sooner. As soon as Glenn said anything about Joe he should have been gone.

Blinded by his own selfishness and hedonism he overlooked everything, when it was right under his nose this entire time. Every lasting look, the way Daryl would flinch or shudder away from certain touches as if he were afraid.

 _God_ —and that look on his face when he first found Daryl, wandering the streets looking malnourished and scruffy.

His hands tremble against the wheel.

Sweat accumulates on his brow, face and lower back and he feels sick to his stomach. Rick doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to see the ugly reflection of his own willful ignorance. Truthfully he had been obsessed with the idea of Daryl, the thought of beauty, so transparent and transcending, ingeniously in the form of a perfect person. He overlooked so much, the unfathomable grief and sorrow on Daryl’s face daily.

The car swerves and the radio is buzzing in his ear, vaguely he can hear Shane in the background along with other voices. Rick snatches the radio quickly.

“All unites respond! This is 10-34 come in, on route to 45 Miller Lane towards the Dixon residence! Repeat all unites respond! Over.”  Rick spat into the mouth piece. There is static in responds then several officers jump to reply.

By the time he makes to the Dixon residence the blood is pounding in his ears, he can barely see straight, the rage is boiling over and there isn’t anything from stopping the demon from ripping, tearing its way through.

The house comes into view, dilapidated on the hillside, crumbling piece of shit that Rick loathes more than anything. He presses harder on the gas, dirt and debris flying everywhere as he drives recklessly up the pathway and parks the car near the house. Sirens blare loudly as he slams his foot on the brake, nearly crashing into the front porch. Rick flies out of the vehicle, leaving the door hanging wide open and stumbles up the porch with his gun heavy in hand.

There is nothing, white noise, air bustling in his ears and the tunnel vision of paralyzing vehemence. It’s dark, raw and savage, the demons lips curl and its breathing fire and brimstone as he clamours his way up the stairway of the Dixon property.

The Colt is secure in his grasp, fingers tightening around the trigger because there will be _nothing_ , but brutality, sickening violence of blood and guts and gore. 

Wooden stairs creak and groan under his foreign weight, the screen door is hanging off its hinges and he knows, knows within his bones that there is something _very very very_ wrong here.

Rick doesn’t think, doesn’t bother formulating a plan, instead he crashes into the front door, using his shoulder to smash into the weak wood. The door bends, cracks and nearly splinters beneath the blow and ultimately breaks, bursting open.

Pain explodes in his shoulder, searing and crippling, all the way up to his collar bone but he ignores it. The place is trashed, garbage is lying everywhere, the stale stench of old mold and rotting food fill the air. There is blood on the floor, perhaps animal but he isn’t too sure and the couch is torn to pieces, bits of wool are dancing in the humid Georgia air.

It takes him a moment; he stares dubiously around the room until his eyes land on a figure in the corner of the kitchen counter. He’s panting like a madman, the fire still red hot in his veins, the ire like an eruption of blinding lights— _fireworks_.

Daryl is there.

Hunching over, curling within himself, his head on his knees as he sobs into his arms. Rick trips, stumbling blindly trying to get to him. He kneels beside Daryl, desperately checking him for any wounds. A string of babbled nonsense escapes his lips as he urgently tries to get Daryl to acknowledge him.

Daryl lifts his head, his left eye is swollen shut, so black and blue and hideous that Rick nearly jumps back. His clothes are torn, his shirt barely concealing his chest. _What the fuck happened?_

Suddenly Daryl is pushing, shunting, shoving then abruptly—barking, yelling at him in a hoarse voice to _leave and get the fuck out and never come back._ There is so much noise, he can’t think straight, can’t see straight, it’s fucking with his perception and the demon is ravenous, the gun is beckoning him and the animosity comes swift and unyielding.

Rick grabs his arms roughly, shakes him.

“Where the fuck is he?” He screams at Daryl. 

More tears and Daryl stops tersely and stares at him, one emerald eye that is unscathed is wide and beseeching.

The kid is terrified.

Rick doesn’t need to turn around to know what inflicts that look. The silence is deafening, except for the pounding mantra, the convulsion of rage spreading through his core. He takes his time, touching Daryl, caressing him and brushing the hair out of his eyes. _Darlin’ don’t be afraid_.  

Then he stands, turning to meet the man with cool detest detachment.

Joe is leaning against the door, a sleazy, lazy smile adorning his blackened teeth. Everything about him sets Rick alight with severe surfeit, intense and consuming. Joe’s twisted little indiscretions have been brought to light, every dark crawling, mangled secrete is going to be dragged from the shadows and into the light.

Their salacious relationship ends—here and right fucking now. Rick raises his gun and aims, pointing it directly at Joe’s dumb ugly face. This _creature_ , disgusting and revolting is a threat, contaminating his town and everything he holds dear.

“Well,” Joe says, slow and deliberate. “I reckon you’ve come to take over.”

The words are cunning, devious in their constitution, they are meant to get inside his head. A perverse thought comes to his mind, because essentially he has and strangely enough Rick isn’t the least bit bothered by it. Maybe this is where things were headed all along— _to kill a demon he has to become one_.

“We ain’t so different,” Joe continues. “I was you, few years back. I was. That might surprise ya but Daryl makes me good money. We got an arrangement goin’, have fer years and it ain’t until he met ya that thangs started to change…”

Joe’s words _stink_ like piss and shit and Rick can hardly stand it.

“Ya fell for those doe eyes, ain’t they a sight for sore eyes,” Joe whistles. “The boy is a looker. I wouldn’t classify myself as a fag, ‘cause I ain’t no fag just a sucker for a pretty face is all.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Rick barks, grinding his teeth. “You must be out of yer Goddamn mind if ya think I’ll ever side with ya.”

“It ain’t ‘bout sidin’,” Joe answers. “It’s ‘bout makin’ sure my investment goes to the right person and Police Commissioner…well it can’t get better than that.”

“What the hell are ya talkin’ bout?” Rick demands crossly, his patience running thin.

Joe smiles; it’s a bleak twisted thing and makes Rick’s insides convolute. “Like I said ‘fore we ain’t so different.”

“We are _nothin’_ alike,” Rick seethes.

“Oh, but we are,” Joe responds. “With you the business will go on. I know that now. If there is one thing I’m proud of, it’s what I’ve accomplished with Daryl. I’ve molded him, shaped him into what I deem worthy and trust me the kid sly, slipperier than a rattle snake.”

“You _sick_ fuck,” Rick pants, struggling now to pull the trigger.

“Hey,” Joe says smugly. “I’m proud of it and because of you I am happy as a dead pig in the sunshine. It’s insane isn’t it?”

The white light burns bright.

Rick is reeling, the words are winding and twining around his brain and he feels so nauseated. He can barely breathe past the pungent smell of Joe and his depraved mind and everything he’s implied. The sexual abuse, the physical abuse and mental abuse—the sheer _violation_ of Daryl makes his stomach wrench and he can barely stand, his legs quiver and he feels the anger rushing at him.

The umbrage spasm across his body, until red is all he can see. Rick wants carnage, wants Joe’s head mounted on his wall like a prized possession.

_This will be over soon._

The demon, resting weightless on his shoulder, a clawing grotesque creature snarling in his ear to kill, it wants blood and shit and blood and shit everywhere. Rick knows he should cuff him, take him to the cruiser and wait for back up—he knows that. Joe should be in jail with his own kind, with Ed and all those other deviants but Rick is itching, twitching for something _else_.

He doesn’t want to see Joe behind bars, where he could possible get out ten or fifteen years later for good behavior. The insane thing would be letting this person—this _creature_ live; to spread his poisonous existence upon others. The demon bares its canines, wailing in his ear and foaming at the mouth.

The world narrows, the gun aims and he breathes harshly through his nose.

“All I’ve got is insane.”

Rick fires, the bullets pierce fragile flesh and tears through skin. Joe’s head explodes, blood and chunks of brain blasting through the air. He steps closer, firing a round into Joe’s body, watching sadistically as it lurches violently, the body juddering and spazzing, jerking and erupting with blood spraying everywhere.

His mouth fills ferociously with metallic taste of iron. It’s beautiful—so vibrant and so red and so fucking satisfying. The bloods spurts and spatters across his face and he doesn’t stop pulling the trigger until his Colt _clicks clicks clicks_.

Then he smiles, feeling adrenaline rush hot and thick in his veins because Joe looks so _damn precious_ —bleeding mulberry and cheery red with half of his head caved in unnaturally—there is nothing left of him. 

There is vague screaming.

It sounds oddly inhuman and he looks up in time to see Daryl dash out of the house, slipping and sliding on Joe’s blood as he struggles to get out the front door.  Far away he can hear more sirens, the backup he called is coming and he chases after Daryl, clumsily, nearly falling down the wooden steps.

Daryl trips, tumbling head first in the dirt near the house wrenching loudly as he vomits.

Rick is beside him instantaneously, he kneels stroking his head and gasping frantically. There is no time, they will be here any second and they need to get their stories straight.

“He was attackin’ you.” Rick whispers darkly, face covered with blood and filth. “That’s what you’ll say. Got it?”

Daryl is sobbing, puking profusely and he emits a soft whine shaking his head lightly.

“Do you fuckin’ _got it_?” Rick growls, roughly grabbing Daryl’s hair.

He nods weakly and Rick loosens his grip, just in time to see the sea of Police cruisers tear into the lot. They swarm the scene, each cop gets out of their vehicles with their guns drawn and raised, ready for a fight.

Rick waves them off, patting Daryl on the back before standing to his feet.

Shane is first to approach, fearfully checking him over to make sure none of the blood is his. Rick jerks his head towards the house, answering his silent question.

“You alright brother?” Shane asks his forehead creased with worry.

He looks at Shane, his body singing with high pitched frequencies and Joe's blood hardening on his skin.

“Never better.”

~

They manage to clean up the scene.

Forensics place yellow tape around the house, also inside the house and Rick lingers back, telling his story for the hundredth time to his colleagues. The events are all very simple, repetitive and bland. They ask for specifics, what happened, where and when, what position was he standing in? Where was Daryl? How is Daryl?

Rick answers all the questions pragmatically, the lies flowing like a honey through his duplicitous teeth.

They don’t ask Daryl, the kid is practically cationic as the EMS look after him.

Rick struts around the area like a peacocok, occasionally spewing orders and making sure they get all the evidence they need.  They search the house, Forensics sweeps the crime scene and Sasha brings Daryl some clothes he can wear. Shane comes up beside him, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Yer arm don’t look right,” Shane states, nodding towards him.

Most likely dislocated, Rick nods. “Yeah, I’ll have them check it out. I wanna get this done first.”

“Ya said Joe attacked ya, right?” Shane asks.

“Yeah.”

“Ya said he charged yeah right?”

“Sure did.”

Shane kisses his teeth, spits on the grass to his left and places his hands on his hips.

“Funny.”

“What?” Rick squints against the fading light, molten lava now bleeding into the skyline.

“I reckon…the way Joe’s body is position is that he was shot point blank. From where he was standin’ near the door ain’t no way he could have charged at ya and the distance ‘tween ya and him don’t make no friggin’ sense,” Shane observes.

Rick knows where this is going, he knows what Shane is getting at but he doesn’t give a fuck. Shane won’t share his opinions with anyone else, this is just a ploy—a trap to get him to tell the truth, which he won’t. Not now and not ever. They’ve known each other since they were kids and he always was a shitty liar—especially with Lori and Shane.

He doesn’t bother responding.

Instead he grinds his teeth and stares resolutely ahead. “Get back to work,” He grunts, striding away to the EMS.

It’s all patch work, the paramedics bandage his shoulder and reset the dislocated bone back into place. The whole process hurts like a bitch and by nightfall he’s aching to get some sleep. He finds Daryl after, eager to get them both away from this atrocious place.

Daryl is bandage up, sitting at the back of the EMS vehicle with Sasha.

“Hey,” She says when he approaches, managing a weak smile. “We got him some clothes and things that he wanted to take from the house. I’ll take him back to the station and we’ll get someone to look after him. Alright honey? We’ll fix you up real good—”

“The fuck you will,” Rick spits, intercepting the conversation. “He’s riding with me.”  

Sasha stares at him perplex. “Oh—ugh are you sure it’s no problem—”

“Yes I’m sure,” Rick answers brusquely. “I want Deanna there by the time we make it to the station. Let’s go.” He grabs Daryl’s belongings and walks quickly to his car. The kid follows silently, getting in the front seat, staring vacantly out of the window.

The drive to the station is mostly quiet.

Rick chances several glances at Daryl but he doesn’t say anything because there really isn’t anything to say. This isn’t pretty, what happen with Joe was downright ugly.  There is no way to sugar coat anything; Daryl doesn’t need his sweet patronization. When they get to the Police station Rick parks the car and waits for several moments.

“Ya understand why I did it,” Rick says, his voice rough and hoarse. “Ya understand why he needed to die right?”

“Yes,” Daryl whispers.

The kid is so pale, his face nearly translucent in the moonlight. Rick can’t even begin to understand what Daryl is going through but he does his best to make sure that Daryl realizes that he’ll be there for him, no matter what. He feels oddly possessive, considering everything that they've gone through Rick isn't willing to let Daryl go, not yet. 

Not when something is simmering just below the surface. 

The thought of being separated from Daryl leaves Rick absolutely stricken, it siezes his heart in his chest. It makes him crazy, his body threatening to tear everything apart just to be next to him.

Rick _can't_ let him go.

“No matter what I ain’t losin’ you,” Rick vows. “I don’t care what they say but we ain’t gonna be separated. I’ll figure it out, I promise Daryl.”

They exit the vehicle and walk calmly towards the building. The minute he steps inside several Officers stare at him and Daryl but he keeps walking, fully aware of the fact that he must look like shit, covered in blood and dirt.

Deanna is waiting by his office.

“I’ll be a minute,” Rick speaks lowly to Daryl. “Sit here and wait for me.”

The office is dark once he steps inside and he turns on the light and gestures for Deanna to take a seat. “What the hell am I doing here Rick? At this time of night?”

“Hello to you too,” Rick mumbles.

“Does this have something to do with the Dixon kid? If you wanted to talk you should have called my office tomorrow. It’ll take some time for us to find him a place, we are social services and we can’t just snap our fingers—”

“He ain’t goin’ into the system,” Rick interrupts calmly.

Deanna scoffed. “Well, is Merle coming to collect him? Because as far as I know nobody has seen Merle or heard from him in years.”

“He ain’t stayin’ with that piece o’shit either.”

“Well then The Georgia Department of Human Services will take him and trust me foster care is probably your best option right now.”

“Deanna,” Rick leans forward. “Look me in the eye and tell me that sendin’ Daryl to foster care isn’t a fate worse than death. The next foster care is three counties over, not to mention he’ll be ripped away from his town if his brother ever decides to come back.”

“I know,” Deanna sighs. “He’s too old anyway. As much as we need the room for other children there is place for him there. What would you have me do?”

“Leave him with Hershel Greene,” Rick says calmly. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re kidding right?” Deanna deadpans. “What makes you think Hershel will agree to taking a kid he barely knows and a Dixon I might add?”

“You know Hershel and he will,” Rick says confidently.

“Okay, even if he did, do you expect this to fly with the Department—”

“Look, I’ll sign whatever forms ya want and I’ll get Hershel to agree to be his temporary guardian if I have to but he ain’t leavin’ Byromville, especially not when he has a warm bed he can stay in and possibly going back to school with people he knows.”

“And Hershel is going to be fine with providing all of that?”

“Yes.”

Deanna leans back in her chair. “Okay…I’ll see what I can do about contacting Merle, which is looking more like finding a needle in a haystack. As long as you are fully aware that once Merle comes back and if he files for guardianship Hershel’s will most likely be terminated. The court almost always finds in favor of biological family relationships.”

“I’m well aware,” Rick answers.

“Good,” Deanna stands from her seat. “I’ll contact Hershel and get the ball rolling. I guess we are done here. Nice talking to you.”

With that said she leaves and Rick sighs falling back into his chair.

He really should have thought this through and came up with a better plan but it was the only thing he could think of with such short notice. Although, he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt Hershel will agree to these terms, the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.

Guardianship over Daryl will be the least of their problems once the dust settles.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Phew* That was a bitch to write haha 
> 
> You guys rock! Thanks for all the love and support.
> 
> Also another bigmotherfucking thanks to TheBlackRoom for editing this chapter and being my temporary beta. Much love <33 
> 
> Thoughts?


	12. Wanna Wish It All Away

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

Daryl is weeping shades of indigo.

The sobs aren’t regular, not minty sapphires leaking through his eyes; it sounds more like a piercing wail. It shatters the glass and judder’s his bones, tossing them around in emotional turbulence. Rick feels raw and empty as he sits vacantly on the motel bed.

They are back here again.

Mostly because there isn’t anywhere else to go, at least not tonight. He wasn’t able to get Hershel on the phone, by the time he was finished with Deanna plus the paperwork, it was well after four in the morning. When he stepped outside his office and saw Daryl, pale and catatonic staring at nothing he knew that the kid couldn’t be left alone. Not that he planned to leave Daryl alone again— _not ever_.

Now he isn’t exactly sure what to do.

He can hear Daryl in the shower, dismembered cries of immense turmoil tear at his soul and all he can do is listen. This must be so confusing to Daryl, to finally have his oppressor obliterated and to be free all in one day, yet to have those memories of torment and hatred all wrapped up into one on constant replay. No amount of words or phrases can sum up the emotional distortion Daryl must be feeling, and Rick knows that he’ll need some form of counselling in the near future.

First, he’ll need to know the details.

Rick feels sick thinking about it, but he’s avoided this for far too long. It’s time to finally lift the vail of illusion, one that he blanketed himself in so expertly, and see what’s underneath. The truth will hurt; his eyes sting at the prospect of learning just how degenerate Joe _really_ is.

Azure clouds his vision and he stifles his own clenching fury by slamming his fist against the bed repeatedly. The motion jars his shoulder, sending searing hot pain up his arm. He sighs, breathing harshly through his nose. Rick is tired; physically drained to the point of exhaustion.

The shower shuts off.

Whatever cries are silenced now and there is nothing but the memory of blueberry tears trailing down pale flesh. Rick keeps his eyes on the door and isn’t surprised when Daryl emerges looking like a drowned rodent.

Daryl’s eyes are red-rimmed, residue of cobalt trickling down his neck and damp hair. He is wearing a white robe that Rick assumes was left there from the owner. They don’t speak and Daryl avoids his eyes, keeping them downcast as he shuffles around the room.

“Daryl…”

“Don’t.”

Rick nods slowly and he begins to take off his shirt only to struggle when he can’t get his arms through the sleeves. Daryl helps him, putting his arm back into the cast and then assists with his pants. It’s oddly domestic but Rick doesn’t comment on it, he just slips into bed with nothing but his boxers on. Daryl shuts off the lights and crawls into beside him, turning to lie on his side, facing away from Rick.

The gesture he understands, he doesn’t dare touch Daryl and he keeps quiet about it. The minutes tick by and he finds himself drifting off to sleep, until he's jolted awake by a noise. Daryl is crying again, light sniffles and choking breath ~~e~~ s. This time he does reach out, gently placing his arm around Daryl’s slim waist, tugging him close.

Just like he expected, Daryl doesn’t come willingly, the kid jerks around, quickly throwing a glare over his shoulder. “Fuck off, Rick.”

“No.”

“Leave me be, alright?” Daryl demands, although his voice sounds brittle.

“I won’t—not now or ever.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

“I _can’t_.” Daryl sobs, loud and unabashedly and Rick moves hurriedly to pull him to his chest. They lay there for several moments, Daryl’s soulful cries sounding awful and frantic in the small room.

“You should have….” Rick turns away, doesn’t bother finishing that sentence. How the fuck _could_ Daryl tell him? When Rick was just as bad as the rest? Eye-fucking him and treating him as nothing more than a piece of meat? “I’m sorry.”

Daryl sniffs, using the sleeve of the robe to wipe his eyes. “It’s nothin’…I’ve always been on my own…it’s nothin’.”

“It’s not nothin’,” Rick stresses. “You aren’t alone anymore. I promise you won’t ever be.”

Daryl is quiet for a long time before he finally speaks.

“He was a friend of my father’s….Joe…..he was always hangin’ around, drinkin’ with my Dad….at first he was harmless…a few kisses here and there….nothin’…”

Rick remains silent, listening and absorbing every single word. He tries to view the situation objectively, he’s a cop—he has to observe things rationally without emotions involved.

“Then…my father died….so stupid…a fuckin’ stroke and I found him in his chair…..bottle in his hand, with his eyes wide open and glassy like he was looking at the ocean or somethin’…then Joe came over, looked at my Dad and then looked at me and then he started talkin’ shit about adoption or whatever….Merle was in prison at the time….I was thirteen,” Daryl stops for a moment, breathing harshly. “Joe started talkin’ ‘bout makin’ real money, real cash and growin’ up in a fuckin’ trailer park, we didn’t have shit so I thought….why not? It’s better than the system and I’d probably end up on my ass anyway.”

After that Daryl doesn’t talk anymore.

Rick lies soundlessly, patiently waiting for Daryl to continue or for something else to happen. It takes several moments before Daryl turns around, he faces Rick and looks directly into his eyes.

“You want the truth?” Daryl says his eyes hard like steel.

“Of course,” Rick responds softly.

“Joe never touched me.”

_What?_

Rick eyebrows shoot up, because that makes absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever. Considering everything that Daryl has told him Joe seems like the standard pedophile.

“He said I was too old….he liked them… _younger_ …so we made a deal,” Daryl stares at him, judging his reaction and Rick manages (barely) to keep his face impassive.

“Daryl…are ya sure? I mean you were really young maybe you don’t remember—”

“I remember _everything_ he did to me,” Daryl snaps viciously.

“Alright,” Rick breathes. “Alright, I believe you, but that still doesn’t explain the bruises or the scars or what the son of a bitch did to do you. Regardless of the nature of his touches—he _still_ hurt you.”

Daryl turns his face towards the pillow. “Yeah…he liked to….cut me and use the blood as lubrication…He said that if he ever fucked me, he would kill me and that blood was the only way to give him what he wanted, he called it blood play or some shit.”

Rick is thoroughly disgusted to his core.

The air turns sour but he keeps his face as neutral as possible.  This isn’t the time for blinding rage; Daryl _needs_ him to be here, a pillar of hope and strength.

“Go on,” Rick urges gently.

Even though, he most certainly does _not_ want Daryl to continue.

A large part of him wants to leave, run away from the fucking motel and return back to his simple life, where the biggest problems were food and taking the kids to school. In that life, there were no monsters, no demonic presences of sexual abuse, prostitution, death, destruction or barbarism hovering over them.

They existed in their little bubble gum bubble of sweet, blissful ignorance. 

“I have clients,” Daryl speaks again. “Several of them ya know….others ya don’t. Joe used to make the arrangements, just simple stuff when I was younger….a few blow jobs here and there, nothin’ more…then some of the guys said they’d pay for more. I ain’t sure exactly when it happened. Joe gave me some blue ice ta smoke…then sent me off to some guy….” Daryl swallows. “The first time….the first time hurt like a bitch….I didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout lube or shit and neither did the fuckin’ guy.”

Daryl starts crying again, wracking tears that rip through his entire body. It makes Rick ache to watch and he moves closer to try to comfort him. “It hurt so fuckin’ bad. The pain tore through me. It fuckin’ hurt and I didn’t _know_ ….I didn’t know.”

“Shhh,” Rick hushes, gently stroking his arm. “You’re safe now. It’s okay.”

“No,” Daryl says desperately. “Ya don’t _understand_.”

The slight hysteric pitch in his voice made Rick pause. There is something strange about the way Daryl is speaking. It doesn’t necessarily feel like a confession of deep, dark, horrific events that happened in his childhood. Rick already guessed. He knows the basics now and from what he’s seen, Daryl has confirmed as much. This sounds more like an admission of something— _something_ that he is refusing to make sense of.

“Go on,” Rick says cautiously.

Daryl stares at the blanket and then licks his dry lips. “When that man fucked me….I didn’t know….I didn’t know….it could feel so _good_.”

This time, Rick’s stomach does turn, violently and he lurches, feeling the bile burn through his throat. He manages to stop it, the overflow of vomit curling around his tongue by swallowing thickly. 

“Good?” He manages to choke out.

“Yeah…” Daryl replies, lowly. “I know it don’t make any fuckin’ sense and I ain’t crazy…I just know how I felt…when I came home the next day Joe looked at me….He saw….something. I wasn’t cryin’ or nothin’. My ass hurt somethin’ fierce, but it wasn’t too bad. I just sat down, had a beer and casually asked ‘bout my next client.”

The words dance heedlessly in the air, like fallen autumn leaves. Rick tries to grasp them, to hold them in his arms and make sense of them, but the leaves are scatted.

“Joe saw that.” Daryl continues. “He looked at me and he _knew_ I was a freak. That I needed to be fucked, that I craved it in the worst way possible.”

At first he refuses to believe it—any of it. Whatever warped or brainwashing tactics Joe used to twist Daryl into something unfathomable.  The fact that he thinks being raped and molested as a child is something that he _craved_ and _needed_ fills Rick with contemptuous rage.

The avalanche is falling; he can do nothing now but be taken by the undertow. He waits studiously, avoiding the hatred simmering in his bones. Daryl needs him to listen now and react later.

“I fuckin’ loved it. They cared for me, they touched me and _loved_ me way more than my Daddy ever did and when they fucked me…I ain’t felt anything like it—every single time. I need it Rick. I need it to live. Like air, like breathing air.”

There is a long moment of silence. Daryl is staring up at him, his big, beautiful eyes are tantalizing and beseeching in their innocence. Rick knows that this isn’t Daryl speaking, that this must be exactly what Joe was alluding to. Whatever corrupt, immoral thoughts Joe has shoved into Daryl’s head to make him think this was normal and that non-consensual sex, coerced prostitution was something to be _desired_ , Rick had to put a stop to it, now. 

He doesn’t gnash his teeth; spiting fire at Daryl for revealing something distasteful. Rick is patient, clam still waters running deep.  Instead he strokes Daryl’s cheek, guiding his padded thumb over silky-white flesh.

“What you’ve gone through,” Rick says softly. “It fuckin’ breaks my heart. I won’t try to talk down to ya or call ya crazy for feelin’ what ya feel Daryl. I empathize with you, the love you should have had from your father and your brother wasn’t there, but what Joe did to you….what those men did to you… _.that_ isn’t love.”

Daryl shakes his head hard, disbelievingly. “No, you’re wrong. I reckon ya would be on that psychoanalysis bullshit, but it ain’t true. They care for me, more than Merle or my Daddy ever did.”

There isn’t any other way to approach this but delicately. Daryl has been traumatized, the only way he can make sense of this—the only way he can rationalize being horrifically abused and sexually objectified is to attach sentimentality to it. Rick has seen cases like this before, kids who become attached to their abusers, it sickens him. He doesn’t respond immediately, just remains there touching Daryl soothingly.

“Look at me,” Rick commands. “Daryl, those men don’t care about you. I know this is goin’ to be hard to listen to, but you have to understand. What Joe did to you, forcin’ you to do sexual favors for money, it was wrong. Very wrong.”

“It’s not Rick,” Daryl says earnestly. “They gave me pleasure too. I got money, they cared, I know they did. I ain’t felt nothin’ like it before, nothin’ like that from anybody. Joe said it’d hurt in the beginning, he was right, it did, but later it got better.”

There isn’t much Rick can say at this point. Joe had debauched Daryl’s mind, mainpulating him into thinking that love came in the form of sexual objectification. It would take years of counselling for Daryl to even _understand_ how fucked up this situation is. 

Rick doesn‘t know how to deal with this.

“He’s gone.” Daryl says suddenly and then he’s shaking so badly Rick has to hold him still.

“Shhh,” Rick pats him. “It’s alright.”

The kid makes a strange noise in his throat and then Daryl leans on his chest. Cerulean tears trickle on his skin, Rick does what he can, but subsequently nothing can soothe the turmoil Daryl is feeling.

“I fuckin’ _hated_ him,” Daryl cries. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“God only knows,” Rick mumbles. “It’ll hurt for a long time, Daryl, but you’ll get past this. You will and that monster will never ever touch you again. I swear.”

There’s a lot more Daryl hasn’t told him, a lot more he needs to know, but right now it isn’t going to happen. The kid is exhausted, looking paler than ever as he stares off into oblivion.

Those tumultuous teal eyes, filling with sorrow and vast affliction are drooping tiredly. Turpentine scents the air, signaling an end to the violent tempest and deadliest monsoon.

Leaving nothing behind but still waters, that run deep.

~

Torrents of turquoise rain trickle against the window.

Rick shifts awake, struggling momentarily to come out of his drunken sleep haze. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that Daryl isn’t beside him. The light draft that is sending shivers up his spine is indication enough. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the crumbling ceiling, watching the water drip from the brown cracks.

When he looks over, he sees Daryl outside the window, crouching on a chair on the balcony and the smoke from his cigarette cascading and wafting into the bedroom through the open window. Rick allows Daryl these few moments of solitude; he lingers in bed, stretching his aching limbs and wandering in and out of sleep.

He stutters awake again when the door closes and Daryl climbs back into bed beside him. Rick doesn’t hesitate in bringing his arms around the kid. They lie there with nothing but the soft pelting of rain as a low murmur.

“Do ya have work?” Daryl asks timidly.

“No,” Rick replies, stroking his hair. “Not today.”

There is more silence.

Rick thinks deeply about what to do next. The first order of business is to get in touch with Herschel; that needs to happen as soon as possible. After that, he’ll have to see about finding Daryl some counselling, then enrolling him into a good high school nearby, probably with one of the younger Greene siblings. 

“What’s gonna happen ta me?”

The question is said so quietly Rick has to strain to hear.

“Well,” Rick starts, ready to tell him the plan he laid out for Daryl and then he suddenly stops himself. The worst thing he can do right now is to start ordering the kid around and that could turn unpleasant real quick. “What do you want to happen to you?”

Daryl sighs. “I want to stay here with ya.”

The answer stuns Rick, it’s said with such honesty and virtuousness that he doesn’t know exactly how to respond.  His heart thumps loudly in his chest, ideas and visions dancing around, hallucinations of domestic life with Daryl are prevalent in his mind. How wonderful it would be, sinful and delectable, them together, fucking and living as one in a space where he could touch Daryl, kiss him without shame or disgrace.

To have his beautiful boy wrapped up and tethered to a home. Rick imagines casual touches and kisses and making love to him whenever he desires. The vision lightens Rick’s heavy heart; the sublime consumes his soul as he sinks deeply into his delusions of love and happiness.

“Like how it’s supposed to be,” Daryl adds absentmindedly.

Everything comes to a screeching halt. Those words said so innocently, coded with nothing but raw goodness and decency send Rick’s mind reeling.

 _We are the same—you and I_.

The dreamlike, frivolously hallucinations melt into something ugly—something that disgusts him to his core. Daryl snuggles against his side, gazing up at him like he hangs the moon and like he’ll become the _next_ Joe.

Rick is off the bed in a matter of seconds, kicking the sheets off and stumbling awkwardly to his feet. His entire face is red, seething hot with anger and humiliation. _Because honestly, what the fuck did he expect?_ Daryl looks startled, brows drawn together perplexed.

It’s clear that Daryl misunderstands their relationship—it’s obvious the kid doesn’t fully comprehend that Rick _isn’t_ Joe.  They aren’t going to live together in some sick, abominable farce relationship. He isn’t going to destroy Daryl the way Joe did—he would _never_ do that.

“Daryl,” Rick says lowly, his eyes blazing. “I know ya don’t understand or it might be hard for you to understand, but ya can’t stay with me. Now, I’ll do everythin’ and I mean everythin’ I can to make sure ya get the help ya need. I won’t leave just like I promised, but we can’t—we will not be stayin’ together.”

The kid’s expression darkens quickly. “So ya are leavin’ me.”

“No, I’m not.” Rick says sternly. “You know I have a family—a wife and kids. I’ll do everythin’ I can to get ya settled. I managed to talk to Deanna and you won’t be goin’ into the system. I have somethin’ worked out with Herschel Greene and you’ll be stayin’ with him for the time bein’. We can get ya settled; find ya a good school and some counselling. I promise you will have a normal childhood—”

“ _Normal_?” Daryl spits the word back at him. “I just confessed that I’ma goddamn nympho! There ain’t nothin’ normal ‘bout that shit!”

“It’s gonna be difficult at first, but soon, after some hard work—”

“I can’t fuckin’ _believe_ this!”

Things are spiraling out of control and Rick tries his best to keep calm about it. “Look, this may be difficult to understand—”

“Oh, I understand,” Daryl barks. “I understand that yer just like the rest. I’m good enough to fuck, but beyond that yer just gonna dump me on the nearest do-gooder! Like some fuckin’ charity case!”

“You know I don’t think that.”

“What I know is that yesterday ya were willin’ ta to do anythin’ ta stick yer cock into me and today I’m nothin’ but some _thing_  ya need to take care of—to dump on someone else!”

“You know it isn’t like that,” Rick responds. “Right now I will do everythin’ that is within my power to keep you in Byromville and the only way to do that is to put you in a stable home.”

“Fuck you.”

Rick flinches at the crude language, but he won’t let himself be detoured by vulgarity. There is nothing surprising about Daryl’s resistance, if he was that age he probably would be doing the same thing. “Everythin’ is happening fast and I know this change will be drastic for ya, but it needs to be done. After a few months and once you’re settled you’ll feel better, I promise—”

“Ya can’t promise shit,” Daryl barks and suddenly he’s getting off the bed, rummaging around this his clothes.

“Where are you goin?” Rick finds himself demanding.

“I’m better off on the fuckin’ street,” Daryl bites back shoving whatever he can in his duffle bag.

There is something nagging, a growing panic starting at the base of his spine as he watches Daryl pack. The thought of not being with him, not seeing him ever again and left wondering if Daryl is okay or in some gutter somewhere dying, it’s all so unbearable.

He doesn’t want to picture Byromville without him, the future spanning out is desolated and filled with nothing and seen only through a grey scale. The heat burns beneath his skin, ignites his flesh and he knows—like he’s known for a while—he feels more for Daryl than anyone else.

The word is there, prancing precipitously around his peripherals.

Languidly the drunken haze of madness and lust is lifted. His thoughts whirl and his body moves on impulse, because _damnitt_ he needs Daryl to stay with him. Not only out of selfish desire, but he because he cares.

“Do you actually think I’d let you leave?”

“I could honestly care less,” Daryl says grabbing his shirt and tugging it on. 

“C’mon, think rationally about this,” he says. “Just let me help you, there isn’t anything out there except pain and men—”

“What, men like _you_? Who treat me like nothing but a nice, comfy hole for their cocks?” Daryl snaps brutally.

Ultimately that’s what it all comes down to.

To Daryl, he will always be those men, seedy, vile human beings, looking to leech off the souls of others. He is seemingly no different, at the beginning he treated Daryl like an object, a thing to be used and discarded easily.

But _Dear God_ —he isn’t them.

Rick feels, within the depths of his soul, the strongest desire to keep and cradle this kid to his chest. Not because Daryl is weak or needs coddling, but because of his wilful strength and influence. The kid stirs something unimaginable in his heart, flaying the muscle open, peeling the skin off bone—exposing him.

It’s devastating because only now does he realise what that nagging, insistent feeling is, how he longs to be with Daryl, regardless of the consequences. That word, sounding like the base of a Cello being plucked violently over and over again, is _love_.

Rick _loves_ Daryl and it is going to tear them both a part.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this chapter <3
> 
> Also big thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. 
> 
> Thoughts?


	13. And Got What I Wanted All Along.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

Only Hershel doesn’t agree to take Daryl.

The news comes, shockingly as he holds the phone to his ear, listening to Herschel rant on and on about family and duty and how he has to uphold a certain imagine. Yes, he is a devout Christian and yes, he has consulted his pastor, but the bible says _we should stay away from even the appearance of evil_.

By definition, Daryl Dixon is the devil.

Hershel has girls, two innocent girls that cannot be morally corrupted by his countenance. Rick grips the phone tightly; it’s turning his knuckles white and his face red with abhorrence. At this point he’s tried all angles, reasoned and badgered Hershel until he is seething mad— _Daryl is just a kid!_

However, the man remains infuriatingly calm. _That may be, but my answer is still the same_.

Rick hangs up the phone, violently slamming it against the receiver. What the fuck is he going to do now? He silently fumes in his office, knowing that he’ll have to report to Deanna in a few hours and let her know what a cowardly piece of shit Hershel is. They’ve been friends for years, he loves Hershel like the father he never had. Now he feels like he is being abandoned and that hurts more than he is willing to admit. Right now he can’t do anything about it, he’ll have to wait and see, call around and ask. Maybe Father Gabriel will be able to take him? He puts a stop to that train of thought immediately.

Daryl is in the interrogation room next door. Shane and Abe have more questions for the kid, regarding his involvement with the Claimers. Andrea volunteered to go with him to act as his temporary lawyer.

 _Christ_ —he needs air, he needs to go home and get some more clothes and finally speak to his wife. Something horrible settles in the pit of his stomach when he thinks about Lori and his kids. What is he going to tell them? How is he going to solve this mess with Daryl? Rick grabs his keys, shuts off the lights in his office and locks the door. When he steps outside, he sees Daryl lounging in one of the chair, drinking coffee out of a Styrofoam cup.

“Hey,” Rick says softly, approaching him.

They had fought viciously two days ago, with Daryl threatening fire and brimstone if Rick ever left him with Hershel’s family. It had been the worst two days of his life; he can still recall the residual panic he felt at the thought of Daryl leaving, at the thought of never seeing him again. The agony that twisted deep in his chest nearly paralyzed him and he fucking _begged_ Daryl, on his hands and knees not to leave, like the bitch that he was.

Of course something glittered and gleamed in the kid’s eyes, a kind of spark, recognition of power and authority. Daryl, his angel, transcending beauty, assimilated in an earthly form, had gazed down at him and nodded hesitantly. Rick had been overjoyed, kissed his knuckles and hands silently worshipping him.

Daryl smiles timidly as Rick approaches, his hair still damp from the shower this morning, brushed back against his forehead. The swelling in his eye is still grotesque, but not as angry and vengeful as it was a few days ago. “Hi.”

“Everythin’ okay?” Rick can’t help but ask.

“Fine,” Daryl replies. “Just waitin’ fo’ them ta call me in. They said they need to run some tests…rape kit…and take some pictures of my scars.”

This is protocol—Rick reminds himself, although that doesn’t stop the alarming feeling bubbling up in him. “Do ya want me to stay? I can be in there when they take pictures and stuff—”

“No,” Daryl interrupts quickly. “I’m okay.”

“Are ya sure?”

“I’m fine.”

Rick knows people in the prescient are watching their interaction. He can feel their eyes on them, but right now he doesn’t care. He places his good hand on Daryl’s shoulder, his fingers subtly weaving under the fabric of the shirt.

He doesn’t mean to be overtly affectionate, he doesn’t mean to expose the true nature of their relationship, but he can’t help it. At this time, he needs some kind of affirmation, some kind of connection to Daryl. They’ll make it through this, Rick is sure of it.

“Call me on my cell. I mean it, if ya need anythin’.”

Daryl nods. “I will.”

~

Old pastures race beside him.

On his way out of town, he passes a shop on Shiver Street with a lease sign in the window. As he passes, Rick drives by slowly; he’s not sure exactly why, but he lingers a moment, staring at the quaint shop below and the sign above. A strange feeling floods him and he moves on before he can fully decipher it.

The row of luxuriously bloated houses comes into view. It feels suffocating with an energy that distorts his mouth, forcing him to flatten his tongue against the base of his mouth, his body recoiling in a deep seated feeling of exile. He doesn’t belong here anymore. Suburbia is different now; he doesn’t feel comfort as he looks at the houses all synchronized in a row. It’s more like a strange prison; where the shackles are mortgages, car loans and life insurance.

He doesn’t know what to expect when he returns home.

Considering he hasn’t been back in nearly a week. Not since Daryl was violated by Joe—scratch that—not since he _killed_ Joe. When he parks his car in the driveway, there is an air of finality circling him. Now that he knows he _loves_ Daryl, he isn’t exactly sure what to do with that information.

Legally, he belongs to Lori.

There is no moral allowance that will suddenly be okay with him shacking up with his pubescent concubine. Yet, there is something urgent whispering in his ear. There is a possibility, minuscule, but it’s there and Rick is hyper-aware of its existence. He allows himself to entertain those thoughts, ones of him and Daryl living together. It makes his blood pump in his veins and his heart race in exhilaration. 

_Would he want to live in Sodom and Gomorrah?_

The house comes into view, hulking and menacing structure made of four walls and a fucking roof. Rick breathes deeply; sweat accumulating on his brow and his already damp shirt. He knows what’s waiting for him on the other side of that door and Rick isn’t particularly sure he wants to face the monster he’s created.

In the end, he decides better late than never and leaves his car.

The house looks empty, but he knows that looks are deceiving. When he gets to the bedroom, he knows he was right. Lori is sitting at her vanity table, her hair just as wild as her fierce expression. Rick says nothing, staring at her, unsuccessfully trying to convey his apologies. The room feels claustrophobic and Rick slowly enters, half expecting her to fly off the handle any second. Instead, she sits there, staring at him with cold eyes.

“Where have you been?”

Rick sighs deeply. “Long story.”

“Shorten it.”

“Lori—”

“No, I want to know where you’ve been and I want to know what’s going on.”

 _Of course_ —he can’t tell her he spent the night with Daryl in some sleazy motel. Or that he’s come to the painful realization that he is fucking in love with him. None of those things will do anything to quell the growing fury on her face.

Lori wants answers—rightfully so.

They’ve been drifting apart from months and if he wants to keep his family together, he’ll have to do something to bridge the gap between them. At first he flounders, unsure of what to say and what to leave out. The last thing he needs is her breathing down his neck, asking questions and drawing conclusions, so he decides to tell her the truth—selectively.

“Alright,” Rick takes a seat on the bed. “I’ve killed someone.”

Lori’s eyes widen, panic and fear cross her face as she stares at him.

“Oh my God. What happened?”

The lies flow sweet, like milk and honey through his lips as he speaks about killing Joe Dixon, whom he later found out was Joe Claimer. He says nothing about the current investigation with the Claimers or Ed’s personal involvement. Rick talks mainly about fake feelings, remorse, turmoil and all that shit.

Lori eats it up like a Christmas Ham, one bite after another.

Truthfully, he despised Joe, wanted him dead from the moment he found out who he really was and how he had damaged Daryl. He felt nothing after killing Joe, just residual animosity for the man for putting Daryl through all of that. By the time he’s finished, Lori is beside him, rubbing slow circles over his shoulder.

There is one last thing—one last dilemma that is plaguing him.

_What the fuck is he going to do with Daryl?_

The lease sign flashes again, brief but swift and suddenly the lies transform into something else. They shift and shape, poisonous and cunning as they seduce him into sin. It’s so very wrong, but Rick does it regardless. He begins to make his case, explain things in a way which he knows Lori cannot possibly refuse.

He needs to make it believable and he needs to do it fast.

“How long will you be gone?” Lori asks her face open and loving.

“I don’t know…” Rick says, staring at the bedspread. “I’ll need to find Daryl a place to live…Look, I know ya don’t like him, but he’s just a kid and he doesn’t have anybody Lori. If it were Carl or Judith I’d like ta think someone would look out for them—”

“Shhh,” Lori says softly. “What you are doing is amazing, Rick. I am so proud of you. I’m sorry I said all those things about Daryl….if I had known….God, that poor kid.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Rick replies and then grabs her hand. “I am sorry for all the secrets recently, but I reckon you’ll understand why soon enough.”

“You’re a good man Rick,” Lori’s voice cracks. “I love you for that. You saved that boy’s life and now you are going to find him a place to live—a home, a family. If that means for a while he’ll have to live with you somewhere else, then I can accept that.”

The praise is like a flowerless forest, muddy terrains and rotting wheat grass. The words hollow out his chest and make his stomach clench because they aren’t real.

Rick isn’t a hero.

If anything, he is the disease, the plague, the sickness, a tangible menace of the lowest countenance. Lori can’t see through his lies and selfishness, because she wants to believe he is a hero. The whole town has put him on the pedestal and Rick will be damned if he ever fell off.  

Luckily, he can count on Lori’s gullible nature.

He nods and then changes the subject. The part of the dutiful husband comes easily; they speak candidly about the children and what Lori has been up to in his absence. Twenty minutes pass and by then Rick is ready to claw his ears off. It’s all so tedious and boring, he doesn’t listen to half of what she says; he just nods dumbly.

The thought of living with Daryl consumes him.

He won’t be like Joe—never like Joe.

They’ll have to sleep in separate rooms and he’ll have to keep his hands to himself. If he signs as Daryl’s legal guardian, then he can start on finding the kid a more permanent residence. Until then, they will be seemingly stuck in limbo.

“Are you okay?” Lori asks.

“Fine…just tired….” Rick lies. “I’ll let you know when we find a place and I’ll keep ya updated. It won’t be for long I promise.”

 _He can’t promise shit_ , but she doesn’t know that.

“Okay,” Lori answers reluctantly. “You’ll still come by often? Even when the investigation is going on?”

“Of course I will.”

“I’ll pack your things.” Lori stands up. “Why don’t you tell the kids that you’ll be away on importance police business for a few months, but you’ll visit and I’ll get everything ready?”

“Alright,” Rick says.

When he first started fucking Daryl, all he felt was colossal guilt. It nearly crippled him at times whenever he thought of his doting wife and nearly perfect family. Now he doesn’t feel anything, no guilt or shame, just immense relief.

With Daryl, he imagines sweet, hot jazz, country music, gooey strawberry sundaes and blazing heat. There is a lightness that he’s never had with Lori. Mostly because he knows that Daryl will never look at him with dissatisfaction clouding his face. Rick can wholeheartedly be himself; he can fuck and love and just be.

At least for a little while.

He explains the situation to Carl with Judith gurgling on his lap. Instead of patronizing Carl he talks to him sternly, stressing the importance of the situation. Of course, Carl is delighted, his face beaming with ideas about spies and secret missions.

It’s late in the afternoon when he decides to leave.

Lori is by the door with his duffle bags packed. She is wearing a long sweater, her hair piled on top of her head. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’ll call ya when we’re settled.” Rick brings her into a hug. “This isn’t forever, just until I find someone else ta look after him.”

“Sure.”

He kisses her forehead. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The words sound like fabrications, but he forces them through his teeth, because what else do they have left? He doesn’t know what the future holds or if he’ll ever come back. He shouldn’t be leaving in the first place, he should just tell Deanna and be done with this, but he can’t. Rick is in way over his head.

She nods impassively.

“I don’t deserve you.”

 _Christ_ —he doesn’t, because she is his toy doll, Indian vases, silver jewelry meant to sparkle and shine, but left to a dawdling decay in the house. It’s not her fault she married a villain, a selfish bastard that turned out to be her worst nightmare. Rick doesn’t linger, he grabs his bags and leaves the house, knowing somewhere deep down that he isn’t coming back.

The last thing he thinks before is he leaves is that he’ll never have to taste uncooked—raw and mostly batter—pancakes ever again.

 ~

The lease sign comes off the window.

A kind man named Axel walks Rick through the apartment, which he finds isn’t particularly large, but has a quaint quality that he finds instantly charming.

The place is nice, fully furnished, close to his work and within his budget. It has two separate bedrooms, marble countertops, steel fridge and a dishwasher. He looks around, imagining Daryl in this kitchen doing his homework.

“It’ll be pretty quiet up here since it’s only me ‘round the corner. Everyone else is downstairs.” Axel says, shoving his hands deep into his pocket.

“Fine by me,” Rick tilts his head.

“Also, it’s fully furnished,” Axel adds needlessly. “My grandma didn’t believe in throwin’ anythin’ good away, hoarded almost everythin’ ‘till her last breath ~~e~~. I reckoned I’d keep it, since it’s in pretty mint condition and all.”

“How soon can we move in?” Rick asks impatiently.

“Well, since the down payment checked out, I’d say tonight. Usually I do a reference check, but with ya bein’ a cop ‘n all I figured there ain’t much point,” Axel grins.

Rick surveys the living room again before he nods. “We’ll be back tonight.”

Axel hands him the keys and he departs without a backwards glance.

~

Fairy-tale realism is insufficiently articulated.

Rick doesn’t have the words, phrases, diction and all that jazz to truly proclaim the kind of weightlessness he is feeling. Lori blindly accepting his lies, ingesting them, like rotting fruit, blooming with blue puss and green mold.

This victory should feel strange; in fact, it shouldn’t be a victory at all. The fact that he relishes in his deceit makes the situation all the more despicable.

 _Yet_ , the hallucinations are ripe with promise. Daryl will be his, totally and completely. They will live together. The idea he first recoiled from, because it was sick to entertain such thoughts.

Daryl being so young and him being so— _old._

However, after deep consideration and of course, Hershel’s refusal he was left with no choice. Besides, who else can look after Daryl better than him? Who else can _love_ Daryl better than him? That way, Daryl won’t have to be afraid of being abandoned and he can keep a close eye on him. In theory, everything makes sense; sure they'll have to put their physical relationship on the backburner.

Things won’t be like they were before.

They won’t sleep in the same bed and he’ll get Daryl the counselling he needs in order to be productive in society.  The more he thinks about it, the more he enjoys the idea of living in domesticity. When he pulls into the station, he isn’t surprised to see Daryl already outside, waiting for him.

The kid is leaning against the door smoking with Andrea speaking animatedly. 

Daryl flicks his cigarette on the ground and jumps into his car. Rick nods casually to Andrea and pulls away from the station. They drive together in silence for a moment before he chances a glance over at Daryl.

He looks a little better than his did before, but his face is still drawn with hard lines and his eyes are sort of puffy.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

“Tell me.”

“It was shit.”

Rick turns his attention back to the road. He knows exactly what they did, what questions they asked, what pictures they took for evidence. He knows, because he’s done it a thousand times, with thousands of other victims.

Some he knew, others he didn’t. However, this is Daryl and it’s so very different.

 _Fuck_ —he should have stayed with him.

Instead of beating himself up over it, he leans over and takes Daryl’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Daryl snorts. “You should be, asshole.”

Rick fights a grin and steers the car down Maribel Street. They pull into the local DQ and he goes to the drive thru. “What do you want?”

Daryl stares at him strangely. “What?”

“My treat,” Rick explains. “What do you want? Blizzard? Sundae? Cone?”

“Ain’t ever had neither.”

Honestly, at this point he shouldn’t be surprised. “Then you’ll have to try a banana split ice-cream sundae.”

They order and Rick finds somewhere secluded to park the car. Daryl looks hesitant as he stares down at his banana split sundae. Rick had ordered a strawberry sundae and a plain cone for himself.

“If ya wait too long it’ll melt,” Rick comments, licking his own cone vigorously.

Daryl huffs, taking the plastic spoon in his hand and scooping up some banana and ice cream. Rick watches with immense fascination as he takes his very first bite.

“It’s cold.”

Rick barks a laugh. “That’s why it’s called ice-cream. You’ve seriously never had this?”

“No,” Daryl responds. “My Daddy didn’t buy nothing but booze and cigarettes and Merle was gone half the time…it’s sweet too.”

“Eat up,” Rick gives him an encouraging nod.  

“This shit is fuckin’ amazin’,” Daryl declares taking another large spoonful.

“There’s this corny joke Carl always makes whenever we get him ice cream,” Rick says. “He says ‘what did the newspaper say to the ice-cream?’”

“What?”

“He says ‘so what’s the scoop?’”

“That’s not funny.”

“It is if ya think really hard about it.”

“Ya know what’s really funny? How ya are fuckin’ driving with one good arm? That shit is hilarious.”

“I am a man of many talents.”

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“You can do better?”

“Alright, I know one,” Daryl replies. “What do you get when you come across a police officer in a sleeping bag?”

“What?”

“A pig in a blanket.”

Rick chuckles despite the gratuitous nature of the joke.

“That’s a low-blow.”

“Ya asked fo’ it, old man.”

“I know another one,” Rick answers. “Did ya hear ‘bout the gay security guard who got fired from his job at the sperm bank? He got caught drinkin’ on the job.”

Daryl bursts out laughing.

The kid nearly doubles over, he’s laughing so hard tears are leaking out of his eyes. Rick joins in, too and soon they are laughing hysterically. After several moments, he calms down and just stares at Daryl admiring him silently.

It’s refreshing to see Daryl like this again, smiling wildly and spewing offensive jokes.

And that _smile_ —stained strawberry red, absolutely brimming with happiness. The last few days had been rough, so very rough and Rick hadn’t been sure if they would ever get through it. But here they are, several days later eating ice-cream and telling bad jokes.

Like breaking dawn, the storm has passed and now there is nothing but clear skies.

The more Daryl grins and laughs, the more Rick wishes he could dismantle the sun, rearrange the stars and moons, perhaps even the heavens themselves to resemble his smile.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Let's do the time warp again!*
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> Thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this chapter and of course all those amazing people who left me lovely reviews <33
> 
> If you haven't check out my new story.
> 
> Thoughts?


	14. Dim My Eyes...

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

The still morning brings singing songs of silver swans.

Sounding an awful lot like carillons, they chime and ding, creating a subtle symphony. Rick lies in bed listening, precociously reminiscing on his younger days, filled with wheat grass and praying at mass; those days hazy with memories and sweltering Byromville heat.

The low hum of the small sleepy town nestled in the valley.

Rick recalls floral wallpaper and corduroy shoes, 70’s rock along with rhyme and blues. His chubby fingers greedy and strong stealing sweet treasures all day long. A nudge to his shoulder brings him back to the present. Silk white sheets pool around his clothed waist, light shining from the open window as the sun beats down. The morning is in a smooth, tender bloom, lovely and clamorous all at once.

He remembers the night before vividly.

Daryl coming to see their new apartment for the first time; the scowl replaced by innocent fluorescence.

Later on, Rick explained that Daryl wasn’t going to stay with Hershel and that this was his new home. At first Daryl was suspicious; his eyes narrowed in a way that made Rick feel like he was under scrutiny. Then the kid stepped towards him, meek and bashful, kissing him firmly on the mouth.

Rick was surprised and then let himself melt, like chocolate in the sun. He turned into a puddle of goo, mouthing gently at Daryl’s lips, exploring his mouth and tongue, caressing his face and neck. When Daryl was able to pry himself away he mumbled a humbled “Thank you.”

They parted ways shortly after midnight, both of them exhausted and full of ice-cream and junk food. Rick had remained resolute in his decision to sleep in separate bedrooms.

However, Daryl had other ideas.

The kid slinked into his bed sometime before dawn, weaving under the covers and twining their arms together. When Rick awoke with a start, he immediately panicked, but paused when he saw the kid fast asleep, his face serene and tranquil in the moonlight.

 _Oh well_ , he thought. _It’s just one more night._

This morning however, he was very contrite. Daryl’s leg was naked and bare, lying upon the covers, his thigh so polished and muscular.

Rick was tempted to reach out and touch, graze his fingers up the limb and then onward until he reached the apex. Since engaging in homosexual activity, there is still a lot he doesn’t know about anal sex. There is so much he wants to explore, so much he wants to see and know.

With Daryl he could have that.

Not just mindless fucking, but exploration, licking and sucking places he never dared to before. He’s hard thinking about it, but he derails those thoughts because now isn’t the time. When Daryl is healthy, in the right mindset and older—much _older—_ then he can revisit those fantasies.

For now he buries them.

Daryl stirs, his eyes a stunning emerald.

“Hey,” Rick says softly, he runs his fingers through Daryl’s hair. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah.”

“What do ya want to do today?”

Daryl stares at him, puzzled.

“I have the day off,” Rick explains slowly. “I figured we could go to the zoo? I reckon we’d do somethin’ fun today instead of stayin’ inside.”

“I ain’t ever been.”

“I figured that,” Rick smiles. “First time for everything right?”

“Ya seriously want ta go to the fuckin’ zoo?”

“Why not?”

When Daryl doesn’t respond, Rick gets out of the bed, stretching his limbs and yawning loudly. His shoulder is aching so he takes some painkillers and goes into the bathroom to get dressed for the day.

~

Breakfast consists of green eggs and ham.

Not _actually_ green eggs, but they are fried to perfection. Rick stands at the stove, lightly humming to himself with a spatula. The news is playing on radio in the kitchen as he listens closely to the weather. At some point Daryl comes out of his bedroom and sits on a stool at an island table in the kitchen.

They had nothing in the fridge since they moved in yesterday, so he hopped over to the grocery store this morning to pick up some of the essentials. Then went back to the motel and got Daryl’s duffle bag.

“Over easy?” Rick asks, flipping the eggs in the frying pan.

“Yeah,” Daryl says getting up and fixing them both some coffee.

They both move astonishingly well in this tight space and Rick finds himself smiling.

“Toast?”

“Yeah,” Daryl responds sitting back down. “Coffee?”

“Two sugars and some milk please.”

Rick hands Daryl his plate and then prepares his own. They sit down beside each other and start eating. “I reckon we should leave before noon if we want to beat the crowds.”

“Ya want me ta suck ya off first?”

Rick nearly chokes.

Suddenly all he is can see is Daryl’s lips wrapped around his cock, sucking, teasing his length, using that expertise that drives him utterly mad.

He pushes those thoughts _down down down_ , suppressing them deep within the abyss.

“What?”

“Look, I ain’t stupid. All this shit,” he gestures around the room. “It sure as hell ain’t for free.”

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Ya don’t have ta buy me Rick,” Daryl says sternly. “If ya want me, just ask. Hell, I owe ya everythin’ for savin’ my life.”

Rick calmly places his fork on the counter. He tries to keep his expression neutral and understanding because he knows that all of this is new to Daryl.

Living the fucked up life he had before, of course he would think anything in relation to goodwill and kindness would come with strings.

“Daryl—”

“Just hear me out,” Daryl interrupts quickly. “I ain’t tryna insult ya or anythin’ Rick…I think that—”

“Ya think that— _what_? I’ll demand you repay me through sex. It doesn’t work like that Daryl. All that shit ya had to do before with Joe, you don’t have to do it anymore. You’re free.”

“It don’t matter,” Daryl shrugs. “I want to.”

“No you don’t.”

“Have ya been listenin’ to any of the shit I’ve fuckin’ said ta ya?” Daryl snaps. “Don’t tell me what I want and what I don’t want.”

“Okay,” Rick says. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to think our relationship is transactional. I’m not doin’ any of this to get anything from you. I want you to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy.”

Perhaps Daryl didn’t understand the hard road ahead of him.

That this moment of happiness, however precious it may be is fleeting. Sooner or later he’d have to confront the demons of his past. Rick isn’t sure how Daryl will take to the idea of counselling, but he knows it is essential to his recovery.

“I know,” Rick responds. “You’ll be happier once everythin’ is settled and ya can live a normal life.”

Daryl scoffs. “I’ll never have a normal life.”

“That’s not true,” Rick says adamantly. “You can and you will, with hard work and practice I believe ya will.”

“It ain’t a damn race,” Daryl mutters. “Who gives a shit ‘bout being normal anyhow?”

Rick doesn’t respond.

 _How could he?_ The situation they are in isn’t exactly normal. He’s a cop, living with an underage prostitute whom he is in love with. Not to mention, he’s the fucking police commissioner of Byromville. _Christ_ —he should call Hershel back and beg him on his hands and knees to take Daryl.

Although, selfishly he knows he’ll never do it.

Having Daryl like _this_ —open and radiant in the cool daybreak is worth all the turmoil it will soon bring. Rick is by definition bewitched, transfixed and adorned with the _idea_ of Daryl.  They are together now and it surpasses all the constant aching and craving that’s always been just below the surface of his lack luster life. Rick feels like his thirst is quenched; like the cracked, desolated, dry earth is being drenched with rain.

He will drink deeply.

The sea is forever grappling for water, endlessly taking copious amounts and never overflowing. Daryl is his rain and he wouldn’t want things any other way. So he sits there, staring at his eggs, realizing that _normal_ might not be the right definition for Daryl. They will have to rearrange things, put them in different places and whatnot and then soon, maybe Daryl can find a measure of happiness. Not in _normality_ , but in monotony.

The simple things he missed out on in life like; frequent meals, childhood heirlooms, school and above all else stability. Daryl doesn’t need sex for any of that, what he needs is a good life, friendship, companionship and _love_.

Rick can offer all those things—he can _be_ all of those things and more.  

“You decide what normal means to ya,” Rick says. “We move at yer pace. As for sex, it ain’t happenin’. Not now and not when we are gonna be workin’ to get you back on yer feet.”

“So what I want doesn’t matter?”

“What do you want?” Rick demands suddenly feeling exasperated.

“To fuck,” Daryl replies boldly.

Rick rolls his eyes.

“Sex is all I know,” Daryl continues. “I’m good at it, I enjoy it and like I said, I fuckin’ need it.”

“Ya don’t _need_ anythin’,” Rick mumbles moodily.

“I guess you’ll be the judge of that.”

“Stop tryna make me into the bad guy here.”

“Fuck you,” Daryl grunts. “Just fuck you.” He stands, shoving his plate away and stomping off towards his bedroom.  

That went well, Rick thinks snidely. _Shit_ —he rubs his hands over his face. It’s not that he was expecting everything to be sunshine and roses, but he had hoped that at least they wouldn’t fight for the first forty-eight hours. A large part of him doesn’t understand why Daryl wants to have sex at all. What’s the point now that he is free? Surely, the kid doesn’t enjoy it as much as he claims to? He is probably just repeating the same bullshit rhetoric Joe forced into his head.

That has to be the case.

There is no way someone forced into prostitution would actually enjoy it or find any sexual gratification in it. Daryl doesn’t know that this is a symptom of his mental illness, the illusion of craving sex.

What he needs is love and nothing less.

Rick will have to be more patient, no more intolerable outbursts. He will have to show empathy for Daryl’s wellbeing. He sits at the table alone and eats his food; when he finishes, he puts the plate of food into the fridge in case Daryl gets hungry later.

He turns off the news and goes to look out the window.

The morning becomes noon, the sun long gone, replaced by ominous clouds. They are swollen and heavy, rain threatening to spill in thick inundations. Rick feels disappointment flood his body, because now the zoo is obviously out of the fucking question.

Whatever, shit happens and life goes on.

He will weather the storm. There is an air of gloom and Daryl sulking in the next room doesn't make things better. He knows that Daryl is going through a lot; what he needs most of all is his unwavering support.

It should be strange that he hasn’t yet called Lori or spoken to his children. The mutation of love has taken root in his soul, stripping him from his former self and splitting him ultimately in two.

However, what happens when the two worlds collide and Lori begins to piece together the ocean of lies and deception? The wave after wave of infinite betrayal of both body and mind? 

At the end of it all Rick will be treading water. 

~

There is a faint gleam of crystalline irony.

Now that he has what he wants, he can’t actually _have_ it. He cannot kiss the prominent amber-brown mole or caress the hills and caverns or slops of the kid’s chest. He is _aching_ for more, to christen the counters tops, the couches and perhaps even the floor. _God_ —he wants him and it tears him upside to know that he can’t have him.

It is a kind of self-inflicted torture and he understands why Daryl is angry.

They started their relationship with fucking, vaporous escapades and sleazy motel meetings. Now, when they have all the time and all the privacy, Rick has denied them that.

He knows his reasons.

They make sense and he has no intention of going back on his word, but— _sweet Christ_ , if this isn’t a slow death. In an effort to distract himself, he makes some calls to Byromville high school and speaks directly to the principal. Then he calls up an old colleague, a therapist with unethical ways of doing her practice, but he likes her all the same. They agree to have Daryl come in for a few sessions and when he hangs up the phone, he feels a lot lighter than he did this morning. With Daryl’s future not so obscure he knows that eventually the kid will come around.

He gathers up the courage he needs and knocks quietly on Daryl’s door.

Silence greets him, but he presses onwards and opens it.

Daryl is clutching his pillow, the position is oddly childlike and he looks like a silver fox curled up in its den.

The room itself is bland, Daryl’s duffle bag still on the floor with some clothes thrown around. He steps inside closing the door firmly shut behind him.

“’M sorry,” Daryl mumbles, his voice is half stifled by his pillow.

“S’alright,” Rick responds. “I’m not mad.”

“I’m such a jackass,” Daryl says. “I ain’t ever had nothin’ fancy ‘fore, not even my own room or bed…Joe never let me sleep alone.”

“Here ya can have all the space ya want.”

“I appreciate everythin’ ya do Rick,” Daryl answers, turning around to face him. “I won’t let ya down.”

“I know you won’t Daryl,” Rick sits on the bed, reaching out to rub the kid’s thigh. “Look, I just want to slow things down. When you are better, we can pick up the way things were before... I promise you. Lord knows this is hard for me, too. I want ta touch you and hold you.”

“Why not now? Please Rick,” Daryl moves to get up hastily. “I _need_ it, please.”

“Soon,” Rick promises. “We have to wait. I will not take advantage of you like this.”

“You won’t,” Daryl shakes his head. “I swear—”

“I’ve got some good news.” Rick changes the subject abruptly.

Daryl stares at him, though handsome in a coarse sensual way, his eyes flicker darkly. Rick isn’t exactly sure how to understand the expression that dawn on his face. The fine bones and perfectly pubescent look distill something frightening within. 

No doubt Daryl is willful in nature, the stubbornness he’s come to admire he knows he might soon come to regret.

Rick isn’t going to get off that easily.

The pause between them is enough for Rick to discern that. He can practically see the wheels in Daryl’s head turning, plotting various ways to seduce him back into his wicked ways and Rick would be powerless to resist. Briefly, his insatiable eyes follow the column of Daryl’s neck, the strikingly silkiness carnal and alluring.

“What?” Daryl asks slowly.

“The high school,” Rick swallows to gather his thoughts. “They’ll take ya back. I’ve already spoken to the principal and he said you can start part-time and then work your way back up.”

“Okay.”

Rick blinks several times.

He thought for sure there would be resistance, some sort of intense battle that would rage for days and days. Daryl’s less than nonchalant response is very troubling. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll go?”

“’Course.”

“Why?” Rick demands, because honestly, everything is upside down and inside out.

“What else am I gonna do all day?” Daryl huffs in annoyance. “Isn’t this what ya wanted, anyway? Fo’ me ta be normal?”

“No, you’re right. I do it’s just….well, I didn’t think you would actually agree since the last time I brought it up, ya nearly bit my head off.”

“Things change,” Daryl grumbles.

“Okay,” Rick response cautiously. “I also got ya an appointment with a therapist…Are ya sure?”

There is a brief pause.

Daryl nibbling on his lower lip pensively, the action itself is very distracting. Rick wonders what it would be like to surge forward, latch onto him and pry those thin luscious lips open— _fuck his tongue in his mouth_ —kiss him until he suffocates. Spread Daryl wide and see what’s inside, thrust deep and fast, hear him wail. _Fuck_ —Rick takes a stuttering breathe and tries his best to concentrate.

“I want…to _try_ ,” Daryl says softly. “To finally be…. _normal_ again….”

The operative word being _try_ and that is more than he can ask for. Rick pushes those ugly thoughts away and focuses solely on Daryl, who is beaming red and looking at him for confirmation.

“Okay. Let’s try.”

~

There is a teasing, sort of delirious feeling of teetering on the edge.

Rick so happens to be standing on the precipice, of a cliff, a mountain— _honestly_ , at this point he isn’t quite sure.  All he knows is that one wrong move or a slight push will force him to plummet, falling onto the jagged rocks beneath.

It’s far _too_ tempting to remain in Daryl’s bedroom.

To waste the day lounging on Daryl’s bed, fueling the burning fire within his gut with passionate kisses and clammy touches. Especially when the kid is wanton, desperately begging to be stuffed violently, like a pillow with goose feathers.

After all, Rick is just a man.

When the feeling becomes saturating and his stomach twists something fierce, he leaves immediately, running to the sanctuary of the kitchen with his tail between his legs. The night is quiet after that, Daryl is exhausted and goes to bed early, while Rick lingers in living room, mindlessly flicking the channels.

Sometime after ten he hears the doorbell ring.

Shane is there, leaning casually up against the door wearing his signature leather jacket and jeans. The fact that he is here is more than alarming and Rick feels his hackles rise when he allows his best friend into his new apartment.

“How’d ya know where I was?” Rick asks, by way of greeting.

There isn’t a point dancing around the subject, since nobody is supposed to know where he is. _Fuck_ —he hasn’t even told his wife yet and Shane’s sudden appearance is more than unsettling.

“Please,” Shane practically shoves him out of the doorway. “Ya ain’t that hard ta find. Don’t insult me.”

Shane circles around the kitchen, inspecting the drawers and counters, then making his way over to the fridge to grab a few beers. If Rick didn’t know any better, he’d think Shane was actually looking for evidence. The movements are subtle, a slight flicker here or a casual sweep there, but they are all strategic.

Shane is suspicious, rightfully so.

The holes in his story just don’t add up, the truth is falling through the chinks. Rick watches his best friend flounce around the apartment like a cunning coyote with a fresh new scent. 

“Daryl in there?” Shane asks, gesturing to the door adjacent to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Rick replies feeling strange and uneasy.

“Lori said ya where stayin’ somewhere in town with Daryl. So I did a simple process of elimination and ended up here,” Shane says quietly. “I guess I had ta see it to believe it.”

Shane hands him a beer.

“Well, now you’ve seen it.”

“Ya know….” Shane sighs. “Things ain’t been right fo’ a long time. Bottom line is ya should have come ta me, brother. Ya should have said somethin’—anythin’. We could always talk, ya know that.”

“I know…and I’m sorry. Yer right it’s just things got…so _fucked_ up and I can’t with Lori….you know how she gets and….she’s not wrong….but I can’t, not now.”

“Man,” Shane rubs his head in frustration. “You’ve always had this thing, this _thing_. Where ya gotta save everybody, nobody can be left behind, but some people just ain’t worth it, man. Some people need to be left behind.”

“Well that ain’t fo’ me,” Rick titles his head. “I’m not one of those people Shane. I never will be.”

“It’s got me thinkin’,” Shane continues. “What is so special about Dixon? I mean, what happened to the kid is awful, fucked up even, but Deanna can take care of it. Why do ya have to get involved?”

Everything comes to a grinding halt.

Shane is _fishing_ , that much becomes clear, because to be quite frank Deanna can take care of Daryl. She has taken young adults in the past that have been subjected to all manner of abuse; that is her job. The fact that Shane is bringing it up sets off blaring red flags everywhere.

What is his angle?

Rick evades the question. “Why don’t ya let that be my business?” He drains his beer. “It’s gettin’ late. I’ll drive ya home.”

“Nah,” Shane says standing to his feet. “I’m good, plus I ain’t goin’ home. I got a blonde birdie that’s callin’ my name,” he adds slyly.

“Alright,” Rick forces a chuckle walking his friend to the door. “Goodnight.”

Shane dawdles in the doorway, his dark eyes darting between the two bedrooms on the opposite sides of the room. “Goodnight, brother.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this chapter also to those who left lovely reviews <3
> 
> Okay. 
> 
> So due to popular demand there will be a chapter written solely from Daryl's point of view. I can't say exactly when that will be because I'll have to rearrange some things but expect it within the next few chapters. 
> 
> Thoughts?


	15. Lifted Me Up, Turned Me Around

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

Gentle ripples, handsome waves caress beady sand.

The abundancy of life, the hulking trees, coral reefs, animals and fish sputtering around the Lagoon makes his stomach flutter. The cry of the gulls, the boat tethered to the dock and a cool salty breeze raptures him. The gracefully slicing waves, the deep sapphires chasing the sunline makes him marvel at natures tapestry.

It’s been weeks since they’ve been back here.

Not since Carl desperately wanted to go fishing and Rick took several wrong turns getting them lost in the foliage, not since he found Daryl with his crossbow and a bag of large, dead rodents. 

The Lagoon is roughly the same.

Rick is still immensely stupefied, subdued and under the spellbound splendor of its beauty. He can barely take his eyes off it and walks idly for several moments trying to memorize it. Summer days are long and he is glad to indulge while he has the time off work.

The weeks passed slowly, blending together in a strange, dreamlike fashion.

He had been on leave from the office since Joe’s death.  He went to see the social worker at the office weekly, talking extensively about how killing someone had impacted his life and whatnot.

It had all been lies of course; he didn’t give a damn about Joe.

Maybe the social worker knew that—maybe she didn’t, but once he was cleared to go back on duty he knew it wouldn’t matter. The sling on his shoulder was removed several weeks ago and he’s felt no pain since. During his time off he spent the majority of it with Daryl, snuggling on the couch, going to the movies and buying him school supplies.

Daryl was supposed to start high school on Monday.

Although, Rick could tell he was still apprehensive, the kid put on a good show of not giving a damn. He would shrug and grunt, swearing up and down that he was fine and would go to every class.

The kid’s newfound optimism makes his heart soar.

Things have happened quite rapidly. The fact that Daryl is willing to try normalcy is startling, yet at the same time wonderful. Perhaps now he can have a good life, one free of seedy, dangerous men and gratuitous sex.

Rick digs his toes into the sand, relishing in the calm allure it brings him. Several months ago he never thought he’d be here, living in bliss with his lover and finally having the freedom to just _be_. He doesn’t think too passionately about it, fearing that his feelings might run away from him.

Everyday it’s getting harder and harder not to express them. If he moves the wrong way, gazes longer than necessary into those emerald eyes Rick might actually combust.

The problem is that he actually wants to.

 _Dear God_ —he wants to tell Daryl. He wants to tell him that he’s so in love with him, it will be disastrous and devastating but he can no longer hold it in. His thoughts are overflowing with flowery language of adoration, devotion, untapped passion and nonsensical words of endless love. 

By now he’s a goddamn nuclear bomb waiting to explode and annihilate everything in its path. If Daryl looks at him with those slanted eyes and inquisitive features or flexes an upturned close-lipped smile, he might spontaneously implode. The declaration of love isn’t the sole issue; there is also the physical action that seizes his breath in his chest.

Rick desperately wants to _make_ love to Daryl.

To merge their souls in unity, to rest his cock in Daryl’s aching, puckered hole and thrust into oblivion. The physical action of love is what has his stomach coiled and his balls turning an ugly shade of blue. Nevertheless, he stands firm in his resolve and pretends not to notice the angry sneer on Daryl’s face when he pushes him away or the long looks of irritation sent his way.

He is willing to do anything to keep Daryl safe, even if it is from himself.  

The crystals on the water sparkle, he watches the water transcend as the waves lap at the shore. This place is truly paradise and he stands, awestruck by its radiance. His musing is cut off abruptly when he sees Daryl sprinting down the beach towards the dock.

“Come on, old man!” Daryl shouts, running off the dock and diving head first into the water.

Rick laughs, the sound belting from his stomach because the kid looks absolutely comical as he breaks the surface of the water. There is a brief moment of hesitation on his part, since they didn’t bring their bathing suits Rick knows for a fact that Daryl is most likely in his boxers.

That is where the dilemma lies as he is susceptible to all whimsical desires.

The sun is hot causing sweat to accumulating on his back and lower brow and with Daryl looking absolutely delicious, wading in the blue, Rick doesn’t know how long his resistance can last. Overall, the hesitation persists for about a moment—a second really if he wanted to be exact, then he is tearing off his clothes frantically and tossing them on the shore.

Rick dives head first in after Daryl.

Plunging into those deep, still waters, feeling it rush upon his body, soothing and rejuvenating his soul. When he breaks the surface, Daryl is nowhere to be found and Rick treads water frantically for a moment, until something grabs his leg and he shrieks in fear flailing his arms everywhere.

Daryl’s head pops up and he smiles devilishly before taking off into deeper waters.

He finds out two things that day.

First is that Daryl is an excellent swimmer. The kid is beyond skilled with each breast stroke and back stroke, able to hold his breath for long periods of time and he is good at long distance ~~s~~ swimming.

Second is that Daryl is very playful. They spend hours under the sun, chasing each other, trying to dunk the other’s head under the water. The game is roughhousing, sometimes playful wrestling and unlawful maneuvering.

At some point they wash up on shore, legs intertwined and hips slotting together as the water laps at their bodies. Somewhere between play-fighting and wrestling Daryl had kissed him, innocently merged their lips together and then pulled back looking rosy and flushed.

Rick had gone _mad_ with lust.

They barely made it to the shallow end before Rick was on him, holding him down in the sand, kissing him breathlessly as his cock swelled in his shorts.

Now it’s all gone to hell.

He is thrusting wildly, ruthlessly against Daryl; pinning his arms over his head, attacking his swan neck and downy soft skin with his lips and teeth. Daryl is shuddering beneath him, their passion so thick and dense it saturates the humid air. Rick can feel himself losing control, every slippery jerk of his hips and every time their lips are brought together he sees nothing but the fiery flames that ignite his core.

Rick kisses him feverishly, knowing he might actually die with the words bubbling up in his throat. “Did you know every part of you tastes so good?”

Daryl chuckles lightly.

“Shut up and fuck me, Officer.”

 _God_ —does he want to.

It would be so easy to tear off Daryl’s flimsy shorts, hook his legs over his arms and tongue his tight stomach. Rick can see it all so very vividly. He would rush everything, no point in whispering sweet nothings in favor of delaying sweet gratification.

Rick stares down at Daryl.

His mouth practically salivating at the images running rampant in his mind because— _fuck._ The kid looks absolutely delectable, displayed against the sand like a shiny, unblemished pearl. Rick feels hot all over and his heart clenches.

Beads of water trickle down Daryl’s chest and stomach. However, it’s his eyes that are hard and challenging. He made a vow, he promised to keep their relationship platonic until—well, _until_.

No, he can’t do this. 

He groans long and deep because there is nothing else he’d rather do. Instead he leans down, placing a tiny kiss on that precious mole above his lip. When he pulls back, Daryl is smiling up at him, with those strawberry lips stained red and his eyes glittering with mirth. The look is so picturesque, so tragically sublime and breathtaking that Rick can’t hold back anymore.

They both pant loudly. He gazes into those emerald eyes, feeling his heart and cock swell.

“Daryl…”

There is no turning back— _not after this_.

All too soon Rick realizes that he signed his fate the minute he set eyes on the kid all those months ago.  There isn’t much he can do about that now, because the words are coming, flowing effortlessly.  He doesn’t contemplate the ramifications—doesn’t bother really thinking at all.

Rick cradles the Daryl’s face, trying to memorize the contours and crevasse, every imperfection and perfection.

In the end he distills everything to one wonderfully simple principle and speaks carelessly, allowing the words to pour from his lips and be taken away by the air.

“I love you.”

Daryl blinks rhinestones and glaciers back at him. There is a long silence afterwards, which Rick doesn’t bother trying to explain to himself. A part of him should feel foolish, confessing his love to a teenage boy, knowing it will end in catastrophe, but he doesn’t care.

“Ya don’t have to say it back,” Rick mumbles reassuringly. “I just wanted ya to know, you _are_ loved.”

Daryl is quiet for a long time.

The kid looks oddly conflicted as his eyes dart around in a panicked sort of fashion before finally landing on Rick’s face. Daryl swallows thickly, opening his mouth and wheezing out air.

“Thank you.”

Rick furrows his brow. “For what?”

“Lovin’ me.”

Like those stars, simmering in the night Rick knows his thoughts will always shimmer back to Daryl. He’s aware of the age gap, the haunting differences in their lives and how in a few years Merle might decide to come back.

Rick is privy to all those things. However, summer days are long.

When Daryl is gone, he and his love will still be here.

~

Whatever witchery that was cast upon him is broken.

Of course Rick remains bewitched, transfixed with Daryl, but their self-indulgence comes to a sudden end when Monday morning arrives. Daryl is ready for school, looking very sullen and unconventional with his knapsack and brown lunch bag.

“I’ve spoken to the principal,” Rick says grabbing his keys. “Mr. Milton said that there will be someone waitin’ at the doors for you, just to show you ‘round and take ya to yer classes.”

Daryl nods dispassionately.

When they get to the car Rick jabbers unceasingly about his old days in high school and how much fun Daryl is going to have living a normal life. The more he talks, the more he is getting excited about this. The ride is short and during that time he makes sure Daryl has his emergency contact information, as well as his cell phone number.

“Now don’t push yourself,” Rick instructs, pulling into a free space near the entrance of the high school. “Mr. Milton is aware of your situation as well as the rest of the teachers and if any of the kids say anythin’ to ya, just talk to one of the teachers.”

Daryl looks slightly green as he is gazing up at the building.

“Hey,” Rick says gently. “Everythang is going to be okay, I promise.”

“But—”

“Oh, there they are,” Rick interrupts, waving to the principal who is standing on the staircase waiting for them. “You’ll be fine, I love you.”

There is a moment when Daryl looks absolutely stricken, his eyes widen in a strange sort of brief panic and then just as quickly as it comes it’s gone. The kid jumps out of the car, slamming the door unceremoniously shut behind him. Rick watches Daryl strut towards the principal, his hand gripping the strap tightly, painfully almost.

He wonders if he should go in with Daryl, but he knows the kid will be annoyed with him hovering over like a watchdog. Instead, he sits in the car, watching Mr. Milton introduce himself and the student beside him to Daryl. Things seem to progress smoothly and they enter the school.

Rick watches for a long time. Even when the doors close and the school yard becomes vacant he still lingers. All at once he feels an overwhelming sense of grief and wrongness.  He should be dropping Carl and Judith off at school. He should be at home with his wife helping her weed the gardens or cook dinner.

_What the fuck is he doing here?_

It doesn’t make any sense if he thinks about it hard enough. He’s thrown away his entire life—for _what_ exactly? The confliction comes and Rick grips the steering wheel tightly feeling a sense of loss and fear. How long can he keep this up? How long until somebody finds out about his true nature?

It’s only a matter of time until someone starts digging, starts asking the right questions and coming to the right conclusions. The truth is buried underneath the rubble, hidden under the debris and chaos. When the dust settles will he still be here? The answer comes in a torrent of whispers, because yes, he will still fucking be here.

Several moments later he pulls out of the parking space and drives to the station. The trip is tedious and long, but when he arrives, peace settles within his bones.

Being with Daryl and helping him get on his feet was the right thing to do—Rick would stand by that no matter what.

~

The atmosphere at the office is somber.

It must be the heat that causes this rare, infectious disease of laziness, forcing his colleagues to move at a sloth-like pace. The mood is bleak as people stare longing out the windows or jostle themselves awake from typing repetitively at their computers.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s anus,” Abe greets him from his desk. “Aren’t ya supposed ta be on bed rest or some shit?”

“Or some shit,” Rick grins. “I’m just pickin’ up a few thangs.”

“Deanna called,” Abe says. “She’s been tryna reach ya. I would call her back if I were you, sounds like she’s got her panties in a bunch over some legal issues ‘bout that Dixon kid.”

Rick curses loudly because how could he so fucking _stupid_ and forget to inform her about Hershel’s decision. “Thanks man.”

When he gets to his office, he manages to get Deanna on the line and persuade her to come down to the station for a few hours so that they can talk. She agrees, reluctantly of course and Rick knows that this is going to turn into a shit storm quickly.

How is he going to apply for guardianship over Daryl? What are the necessary papers that he needs to file? Fuck, what the hell is he going to tell his wife?

Things are getting messy.

How can he prove to the court that his apartment would be a more stable environment than the foster homes? His income is very good, but beyond that what sort of stability can he provide Daryl?

All these questions whirl around his brain as he tries frantically to come up with solutions. His apartment is good, he enrolled Daryl into high school so that the court would be reluctant to take him out so soon and plus he has therapy sessions lined up. If Rick plays his cards right, things are looking like they might turn in his favor.

When Deanna arrives, he sits nervously in front of her, fiddling with his pen. Her gaze is far too direct and Rick fears she might see the holes in his story. The gaping gaps that are filled with salacious details about how guardianship would be very _problematic_ —considering all he wants to do is fuck the shit out of Daryl.

“Well?” She demands, all hard lines and graceless features.

Rick clears his throat. “Hershel refused to take Daryl in.”

Deanna, for her part, doesn’t act all surprised, in fact she merely shrugs. “Alright, I’ll see if I can take him into custody. There should be some homes available within a few months—”

“No,” Rick interrupts. “What I mean is that he’s been livin’ with me.”

“ _So…_?”

“So,” Rick presses. “I’ve enrolled him into the local high school, I also have counselling sessions set up. I reckon within a few weeks he’ll be settled and he’ll get the help he needs—”

“You’re joking right,” Deanna says. “Look, what you did was amazing and I’m sure Daryl is thankful, but I’ll take over from here.”

“There is no need for that,” Rick responds. “He has a stable place to live here and if I apply for guardianship then he can continue to live his life in peace—”

“ _You_?” Deanna spits the word and Rick knows this isn’t going to end well. “I was on board with this only if you could convince Hers ~~c~~ hel to sign as guardian. I’m sorry Rick, but the legal complications alone would—”

“I can make it work,” Rick hisses with pure conviction. “He can stay here with me. I already have a place for us and he just started high school. If I can petition the court to consider—”

“Rick,” her voice is sharp, like the crack of a whip. “You shot and killed Mr. Claimer and disrupted his business. Even if he hated Mr. Claimer, he still had an emotional and even psychological attachment to him. Do you honestly think Daryl might not have any animosity towards you?”

“And placin’ him in a home full of strangers is better?” Rick challenges. “I know how foster care works Deanna, the minute he gets there he won’t be provided with any of the help that he needs.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Deanna replies. “It’s just protocol. We can petition to the court about your plea for guardianship, but until then Daryl will have to come with me….”

Rick feels the blood pounding in his ears.

This is the worst possible thing to ever happen, because once she takes Daryl, he knows he might never get him back. The idea of uprooting Daryl from his home and throwing him with a bunch of strangers terrifies him. Daryl will most likely end up on the streets again or worse. Deanna goes on, talking extensively about rules and regulations, about how nobody is above the law.

Fuck the law.

“No.”

“What?”

“He is not goin’ anywhere.” Rick barks. “I don’t care what you have to do. Sell your soul, sell your children or whatever I don’t care. He is not leavin’ Byromville.”

“Don’t make this ugly,” Deanna warns.

“I’m not...just…” Rick sighs. “Please, help me with this. You know if he goes into the system he’ll probably be dead in a few years, just give me a chance.”

Deanna is quiet for a long time, before she reluctantly relents. “Fine. I’ll see what the department says. If I hear anything, and I mean anything, has gone wrong, I will hold you personally responsible.”

After she leaves Rick sits at his desk for a long time.

Trying desperately to will his hands to stop shaking. Today he came _this_ close to losing Daryl, to watching him be ripped away into the system. His stomach turns and he huffs loudly trying to calm his frantic heart rate down.

There is still some much to do in spite of Deanna’s compliance. He will need to petition the courts for guardianship and then make arrangements for Daryl to start attending therapy fulltime. _Christ_ —he feels shaken. What the hell would do if he ever lost Daryl? Is he even prepared for that? The conflicting emotions from this morning seem to all but vanish.

Nothing is more important than keeping Daryl safe—keeping Daryl with him.

It takes twenty minutes before he finally calms down enough to leave his office. By then the officers rotate shifts and those on morning shift are leaving. He makes a detour to the locker room to pick up some of the clothing he left there before.

Rick nods to his co-workers and smiles genuinely when he sees Shane at his locker. 

“Hey,” Rick greets. “I’ve had one hell of a day.”

Shane says nothing, continues to violently stuff his belongings into his duffle bag. His jaw clenches and the muscles around his face look tense. Every movement is jerky, rough and callous, almost like he is trying to punch a hole through the bag.

In fact, Shane looks downright _furious_.

The look he’s seen before at least a thousand times. Whatever has Shane this angry is probably a big deal. Rick is beyond perplexed; trying to go back in his mind to find what might have triggered this explosive mood.

He comes up blank.

The locker room is empty and they are the last ones left so the silence between them is deafening. Rick suddenly feels a foreboding sense of guilt and anguish like this is just the beginning of something disastrous.

“Everythin’ alright?”

The flex of Shane’s arms, the snarl gracing his features is so fucking alarming that Rick nearly takes a step back

“Fuck you.”

The words sting, like the tentacles of a jellyfish, they are lethal. He’s seen Shane angry before, he’s seen him irate before—but _this_ is something else. 

Rick tries not to let it bother him, for all he knows Shane could be angry about a number of things. He ignores the tight feeling in his gut and the way his body is screaming at him. Instead he gathers his things, leaves the station and drives back to the school to pick up Daryl.

The kid is already outside waiting for him, sucking on a cigarette. The bell rings, Daryl flicks the bud away and jumps into the car. 

“So, how was school?” Rick asks, driving away.

Daryl looks at him brightly, those oceanic eyes a sea of deception.

“Fine.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this chapter and TheBlackRoom for being my fairy Godmother <33
> 
> Also congratulations to the winners: Jsmith69 for suggesting a sexy, steamy rendezvous at the Lagoon! And of course Iloveushine for suggesting Rick/ Daryl talk about their day. I added a more sinister ending because it will serve the plot next chapter! 
> 
> Thank you everyone who participated and gave their input I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. If anyone has any special request i.e a scene that they would like to see put it in the comments blow and I'll see if I can make it happen. 
> 
> Phew, that was long. 
> 
> Lastly though I am thinking about a sequel, but I don't know if anyone would be interested in that. 
> 
> Thoughts?


	16. Our Fulcrum.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

By all accounts, Rick is worse than a goddamn bitch in heat.

It is safe to say for now, that Rick struggles daily with the phantom. The hurricane winds of seduction, the rampant heat of being plunged into blazing, hot, raw passion. Rick is insatiable in regards to how he feels and what he wants.

The days pass, agonizingly slowly.

As if time itself were dragging its proverbial feet. However, the heat remains. It coils in his gut and sets his eyes alight. His body screams to thrust and claim; to bend Daryl over the nearest surface and _take_ him.

He almost does.

Several times he almost gives in to the beasts, clawing at his gut and core, their nails are sharp and venomous. Rick ties his best to focus on work, on producing the proper court documents in order to become Daryl’s legal guardian.

Everything is horrendously tedious. His hand cramps and his stomach clenches when he is forced to answer many, _many_ questions about his background and his relationship to Daryl. It’s an ugly process, one he doesn’t ever want to repeat again.

Meanwhile, Rick wars with himself daily.

Daryl weaves into his world, which is ecru and evergreen. The kid does so with tempestuous curiosity and with a signature, everlasting shrug of dancing amusement. He wears an expression of frightful anxiousness and blanket fascination like a small Leporine.

Things between them are strained, not as fluid as before. Daryl, for his part, continues to go to school, attend his classes, but when he comes home he is sullen or downright hostile. Rick chalks it up to the kid needing time to adjust to a new school and therapy.

There is, however, an overwhelming sense of doubt in that logic.

For starters, Daryl seems to scowl a lot more. His behavior is both furious and vengeful, as if he were punishing Rick personally for being forced to go to school. This reaction was to be expected, he knew that Daryl would resist despite his earlier convictions.

Tonight, the moonbeams shine into their open window.

Daryl lies beside him, alabaster skin glowing in the light, the shade of soft skin looking both luminous and virtuous. Almost as if an angel had flown down from heaven and taken a human form.  Sometimes at night, away from the bustling boisterous crowds and when he is finally able to stare, to drink in the sight of Daryl, he recalls their intimate moments at the motel.

Those nights and early mornings filled with brazen fire as he fucked Daryl, tasted him, made him cum and suck it off his fingers— _sweet Jesus_.  

How he yearns to go back there. To _that_ night, to that moment and relive it all over again. He knows he is becoming utterly desperate, the stench of desire marinates his pores.

Rick kisses Daryl’s shoulder, gently lapping at the skin and sighing longingly. He pulls the covers back a little, to glimpse at the creature below and then jerks back suddenly.

There is a bruise, not potent, almost faded, but grotesque and purple all the same. It blemishes the inside of his thigh and it’s the shape of a small half lune. Rick is puzzled by its existence, wondering where Daryl got it from and how long he’s had it.

Something like suspicion twists like razor sharp iron in his gut.

It’s nothing he tells himself, the deceit flowing easily and unencumbered. He pulls Daryl to his chest, crushing the kid in a way that is both uncomfortable and unnatural. Rick doesn’t allow his thoughts to go there; he forces them away until he lies awake with his eyes wide open.

It looks like a love mark, one meant with vicious intent.

The bruise is new, _fresh_ and one that Rick has no recollection making. Deanna’s lasting words screech in his ear and Rick can’t help the blind panic and fury he feels.

It’s most likely nothing, he tells himself again.

The lies in his head make everything easier to comprehend. They start slow and sweet, lulling him to complacency. Daryl must have gone hunting or the cupboards in the kitchen are sharp or he is somewhat clumsy (even though he’s never seen Daryl trip in all the time he’s known him).

Night turns into morning, then rinse and repeat.

Rick doesn’t sleep for days.

~

“ _Earlier today the Police fired several shots into a man who, after five rounds to the abdomen, kept advancing towards them. Sheryl, what do you make of this development?”_

_“Judging by the shots fired, that man should be dead, yet as we see here on the video, he is continuing to more towards the officers, which should by all accounts be physically impossible.”_

_“Now, people are saying that it’s a hoax—or government conspiracy, but these videos of—hmm, what’s the word, “walkers” are all over the internet. In places around the world even remote parts of East Asia.”_

_“I cannot comment for sure, but—”_

Rick turns off the radio.

He feels groggy and tired, his eyes sag as he pulls into work. It’s only been a few days but things have rapidly gone to shit. Starting with Daryl’s erratic behavior, the kid literally flew off the handle the other day for no reason at all.

It took several hours to calm Daryl down and by then he was exhausted. He considers calling to school to figure out if maybe they were piling on too much work for Daryl, but decides against it. Whatever is bothering the kid, he just needs time to adjust.

Even that reasoning doesn’t really sit well with him. After years on the force Rick knows when something isn’t right, when something has gone _sour_. He rubs his eyes, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose while he thinks about these news reports of the dead rising.

It sounds like a steaming load of horseshit.

There haven’t been any strange occurrences in Byromville, not that he’s aware of. For all he knows it’s probably some crazy plot from the government or people making practical jokes. He didn’t have time now to dissect the possibilities of man made viruses and government conspiracies; he is late for his first day back at work.

When he gets inside the station, various people shake his hand, pat him on the back or give a welcoming smile. The briefing room is packed with his team ready to update him on the Claimer’s case.

“Welcome back, Boss,” Glenn grins. “It wasn’t the same without you.”

“Thank you, Glenn.” Rick says. “It’s good to be back. Hey, brother, I was wonderin’ if ya could—”

Shane bypasses him, without stopping or even glancing in his direction. The group in the office pause to look between the two them. It isn’t the first time they’ve had arguments and usually Rick can deal with the fall-out because he _knows_ what he did.

Now things are different.

He has no idea why Shane is being a fucking asshole, nor does he particularly care at this point. They have a job to do and whatever petty disagreement they have going on between the two of them can wait.

“Okay,” Rick says to everyone. “What have we got?”

“We’re still workin’ on bringing Len and Lou down to the station, but it’s going to take some time.” Sasha replies.

“Why?”

“Because of the reports…ya know…they are talkin’ ‘bout people rising from the dead or some crazy shit. There are videos all over Youtube and Facebook,” Sasha explains.

“I wasn’t notified, so I didn’t know that was happening in Byromville,” Rick says truly surprised.

“It’s not,” Abe rolls his eyes. “Just some people are scared, getting’ riled up is all. Shane and I straighten them out and we shut that shit down real quick.”

“Good,” Rick responds, reading over some of the case files. “I want a warrant out for Len and Lou by tomorrow at the latest. We need their statements and their eyewitness accounts to joinin’ the Claimer gang and their association with Joe. Let’s bring these men to justice.”

“Those Claimers are as guilty as a chicken feathered hound,” Abe grunts.  “Glenn and I are on it.”

“Did we find anything in regards to Ed? What is Andrea saying?” Rick probes.

“We are still in contract with her, trying to get a plea bargain,” Glenn says. “Also, I haven’t been able to get past the firewall in Ed’s computer. We need it to find out how the website to child pornography was funded and also how Ed got his hands on that type of money so he could distribute it.”

“I reckon, it’s gonna be a _long_ day,” Rick laments causing everyone to laugh.

Shane snorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Anyways,” Rick presses onward. “Since we won’t be able to do anythin’ with Andrea breathin’ down our necks or get through Ed’s firewall, I figure we just sit tight while our hands are tied—”

“That advice is about as useful as tits on a bull,” Shane sneers.

 “What?”

“Ya’ll heard me,” Shane says. “The fuck is the point in waitin’ ‘round for Andrea to get her team of lawyers to come down and give _us_ shit for Ed’s face?”

“Why would we rush ahead? It doesn’t make sense to move hastily when Andrea is goin’ through court proceedin’—”

“It just dills my pickle is all,” Shane interrupts. “That we can’t move forward in the investigation because of the situation with Ed, now as I understand it, he was beaten to a bloody pulp.”

Rick glares at Shane from across the room. “ _And_?”

“And…” Shane drawls. “I reckon it won’t be long until they find out what _really_ happened.”

Rick bristles, wondering what the fuck he did to deserve that.

Sure, he is technically responsible for beating the ever-living-shit out of Ed, but the bastard deserved it. Abe and Shane had both covered for him when Andrea began pursuing the case.

_Why the hell is he bringing this up now?_

Rick clenches his teeth. “I see. Whatever speculations ya have now, I have full faith that Andrea will get to the bottom of it. The truth is in the statements, both ours and Eds.”

“And yer just the fuckin’ pillar of _truth_ ain’t ya?”

The words are too precise, meant to jab and pierce his thin skin, because Shane knows all too well how to penetrate the wound and dig _deep_. Shane knows that Rick lied about hitting Ed, he probably figured out that the story about Joe is complete bullshit.

That still doesn’t explain any of this.

Rick feels like a fish on a hook, a prisoner waiting to be drawn and quartered. There is something much more sinister going on and he has no idea what. 

Above all else, there is an underlining threat of vengeance, some passive-aggressive, menacing cloud looming over-head.

“I guess I am,” Rick responds boldly. “Anything else ya want to add?”

Shane looks at him, his black eyes filled with a vast malevolence, too dark and dismal to fathom. 

“No.”

Just like that, the meeting is over.

People file out of the room, leaving him alone to ponder what the fuck is happening to his life and why his mouth is flooding with the bitter taste of betrayal.

~

The humid air and rancid smell of sweat makes his mood worse.

Rick arrives back at the apartment, disgruntled and humorless, his fatigue doing nothing to quell the mingling powers of hysteria and anger. All he wants is some quiet, a day of lazy tranquility and silence.

Daryl, when he chooses, can be the most exasperating brat.

The kid is downright petulant, often cursing or sulking and sometimes deeply reclusive. Immediately after thinking that his heart softens, he thinks of those doe eyes and rosy mirth, realizing how hard this adjustment must be on the kid and how he has to do whatever it takes to make it easier on Daryl.

Rick opens the door and freezes, wondering why the shower is running and if perhaps Daryl came home from school early. Surely, the school would have called him?

Right before he’s about to knock on the bathroom door, the phone rings.

“Principal Milton,” Rick says when the picks up the phone.

“Mr. Grimes, how are you?”

“Doin’ well, thank you,” Rick replies easily. “What’s going on?”

“I was wondering if you had a chance to bring Daryl around to the school again.”

_What?_

Rick must have heard wrong; there has to be some gunk stuck in his ear because obviously he isn’t hearing right.

“Pardon me?” Rick holds the receiver closer to his ear. “No, there must be a mistake. I’ve been bringin’ him ‘round every day.”

“Oh? Well, the tutor said he was only there on the first day and none of the teachers on campus have seen him.”

“That can’t be true,” Rick reasons. “I’ve dropped him off at school every day this week. I see him go into the buildin’, then I—”

Then he drives away—like the fucking idiot that he is. He never made sure Daryl actually went _inside_. Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, the intense fury building and broiling under the skin, because he should have known better.

Daryl is cunning.

He has Rick wrapped around his finger and the kid damn well knew it. Rick feels hot, the anger comes swift and strident, because he wanted to believe the lies Daryl told him. They are supposed to be normal; the idealization of normalcy is like a drug that he indulges in. The illusions of love, domesticity and happy endings is now growing moldy and rotting right before his eyes.

Rick had believed, with a celestial kind of trust, that with a band-aid things would get better. With a strong mingled sense of naivety and self-delusion he thought he could be _everything_ Daryl needed to heal, that love would heal broken bones, busted ribcages, rape and torture.

That his _love_ would be all consuming and all compassionate, that he could change Daryl, transform his pubescent concubine with morals and normalcy. To force the kid into submission and passable temper, educate him and ultimately _civilize_ him.

The green pastures of love turn soggy, the winds howl and the wilderness bloats with putrefaction. He was dumb enough to think things would be that easy, that in a couple of months Daryl would change from his wicked ways.

“Mr. Grimes are you there?” Milton asks.

“Yeah,” Rick says gruffly. “I’m here.”

“Just bring Mr. Dixon to the school on Monday and we can discuss this in person.”

“Alright,” Rick slams the phone on the receiver and stands there practically fuming, smoke wafting out of his ears and nostrils because Daryl has made a fool out of him. Questions blister at the edge of his tongue, his eyes narrow at the bathroom door studiously shut.

_If Daryl wasn’t at school all week then where the fuck was he?_

The possibilities whirl inside him and he’s ready to tear down that fucking door to get his answers when the phone rings again.

He picks it up, ready to tell whoever is calling to go to hell.

“Rick?”

“Lori,” he sighs rubbing his temple. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call, things have been hectic recently.”

“It’s okay….how is he?”

The curtains from the window flutter and Rick moves to close them, but stops immediately when he glances across the street.

Len is crossing the street.

Of course the bastard is wearing the same shitty sweat pants in the middle of fucking July. There is a strange swagger to his steps, a kind of strut that has Rick seething.

His mind is overthinking—overworking everything, but none of this shit makes any sense. How did Len know where they were? Shane wouldn’t say anything, Rick would bet his life on it.

 _Why is Len in this area anyway?_ What business would a lowlife have anywhere near this part of town? The more Rick thinks about it, the more the addition and subtraction starts to turn his stomach.

The shower in the other room stops, the loud noise of running water ceasing and Rick turns sharply. The pieces take a while to form, because the puzzle is all misshapen and distorted.

Daryl steps out of the bedroom; he looks breathless and startled. His entire body flushing hotly as he stares at Rick in nothing but a flimsy white towel. 

The half-lune love mark is stark contrast to his pale skin and it makes Rick see _fucking_ red. Daryl looks jittery and frantic, the surprise evident on his features as he stares at Rick across the room.

“Are you there?”

“Lori, I can’t talk right now,” Rick hangs up the phone.

The silence falls between them, like a bull in a glass house. Just one wrong move and everything will come crashing down. Nothing makes sense anymore. He can barely control the shaking in his hands as he tries his best to piece together exactly what is happening or what _did_ happen.

The signs are all there, the darting eyes and fidgeting hands and his eyes so beautiful and haunting and slanted mischievously.

 _Dear God_ —he is such a fool.

Daryl is, by all accounts, a _goddamn filthy, worthless whore_ —no, he shouldn’t think such things, because they won’t solve anything. He knows Daryl didn’t choose this life, he knows that.

However, Rick is gutted.

The betrayal tearing open his navel, ripping into his skin and forcing his insides to slide out because— _fuck_ , how else is he supposed to feel?

All he can think about is his love and sacrifice and love and sacrifice and his whole life he’s thrown away for one fucking kid. The trade is unfair, so horribly unfair and Rick hates himself for it. Yet, even now, when the jealousy rampages through his body and minces up his core, he still wants Daryl.

He _wants_ Daryl so badly, naked and bleeding, covered in another man’s cum and bodily juices.

This pain stings, juddering his fragile body and making him shake in agony. He sold his soul for Daryl, given up everything just to be with him and it was all for nothing. The animosity seeps into his core and he glares at Daryl with such malevolence that he’s nearly steaming.

Rick is pure lighter fluid, ready set _match_.

“Where were you?”

“What?” Daryl asks.

“Where were you?”

“At school.”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me!” Rick explodes. “The school called, the principal said you haven’t been to any of your classes! You better have a damn good reason for that!”

Daryl scoffs and the world tips on it's axis.

“Ya finally noticed?”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this chapter.
> 
> Thoughts?


	17. Breathe In Union.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

The fatal rage doesn’t fade like a falling star across blackness.

It burns bright, shredding the clouds and the atmosphere, intensifying and all consuming. They stand toe to toe, head to head, until Rick is ready for brazen, malevolent action. Rick wishes with everything in him that he could drown Daryl, kill him by forcing lethal, copious amounts of rust tasting water in his lungs. However, he knows that mermaids can’t drown, so it’ll be futile.

All too soon, the magic words of wisdom, of sanity and rationale he ignored so long ago turns to ashes in his mouth. After all the piss and shit and piss and shit he’s gone through to bring Daryl back from hell, _this_ is his reward?

Rick is beyond furious, beyond any emotion he’s ever felt in his life because— _fuck_ , he gave up everything to be with Daryl.

For a long time he didn’t think about it, he didn’t think about all the things he was giving up just to be with Daryl. All those moments with Carl, late night chats and early morning kisses. Maybe he missed Judith’ first words or even worse, her first steps. Those precious moments he might have lost just to stuff his cock in a snug hole. Rick is a fool, in more ways than one.

 _Christ_ —right now he wishes he could go back in time and stop this whole thing from happening. If he could he would go back to the first day, when he saw Daryl in the interrogation room, Rick would stop himself from becoming mesmerized by those haunting emerald eyes and that otherworldly face. Even now the recollection is enough to make his stomach flutter and knees shake.

He would stop the world from turning, the heavens opening up and beaming sunlight down on them. He would stop his heart, his lungs and all the creatures in the world just so that he would _never ever_ have to meet Daryl.

So he would never ever have to feel this torment. Rick is so hurt and so fucking angry that he stands there nearly vibrating with it.

Daryl is petulant, glowering back at him like some entitled brat.

“What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?”

“I haven’t been goin’ all week,” Daryl replies haughtily.

“Why the hell not?”

Daryl glares at him, like it’s the most obvious thing in the whole entire world.

“I done told you, school ain’t for me.”

“And that’s it?” Rick barks. “You’re never goin’ back?”

“I suppose not.” Daryl responds flippantly.

Rick seethes, his temper boiling dangerously over as he glowers at Daryl from across the room.

He breathes in slow, feeling the fury rise _up up up_. Rick can barely see straight, the vexation is bolting out his vision, blinding him with white light.

“Do ya know how much I risked ta get ya into that school?” He says through clenched teeth. “Hell, I would have sold my soul if I thought it would help ya out.”

“I never ask ya to do that.” Daryl responds coolly. “I never asked for any of this. I ain’t sayin’ I’m not grateful ‘cause I am, but we both know, school, that was never for me. It was for you.”

The demon comes then, swarming around him like a cloak of shadow, comforting and familiar. Rick welcomes the creature; he allows it to embrace him like a long lost friend. And then the being curls it’s blacken claws around his neck.

“Not for you?” Rick grits out. “And what exactly is _for_ you, Daryl? Because whorin’ yourself out isn’t one of them.”

“It’s all I’m good for,” Daryl says firmly. “Ya knew that before and I have no idea why yer actin’ like it’s some big surprise now.”

Those words confirm everything.

Every sick, twisted, nauseating feeling Rick has had over the past few days are shoved right back in his face. The thought of them together, thriving and rutting, in a heated embrace as Len wraps his slimy arms around Daryl. The image is _grotesque_ , appalling and so very revolting that he turns away from Daryl sharply.

 _God_ —this pain and humiliation cripples him. Before, he was so sure, so absolute in his resolve to save Daryl from himself, but now it’s all backfired.

Len flashes before his mind and he can barely stand it—the sight of that worthless piece of shit is enough to turn his face stark red in vehemence. They must have planned it all together and Rick was just some poor fool who got caught up in the middle of it.

Daryl doesn’t love him, probably never did.

“And Len?” Rick asks dangerously low. “Who is he for?”

Daryl meets his gaze head on, mulishly refusing to respond.

“What the hell is he doin’ here?” Rick demands, his voice rising with each word. “How the fuck did he know where we live?!”

“Fuck you.”

Those words stab at his heart, like a spear it shatters his rib cage, slicing fluidly through bone and flesh. Something comes over him then, something horrible and dark. It’s quick and strident, overwhelming as he watches Daryl storm away.

“Goddamn you!” Rick yells, charging after Daryl. “You think you can pull this shit and there won’t be consequences!”

“I didn’t do nothin’!” Daryl shouts back at him. “You’ve known this whole fuckin’ time so stop actin’ like—”

“Like what?” Rick screams. “I fuckin’ _trusted_ you!”

“We—I didn’t want to hurt ya, it ain’t nothin’—”

“You let him touch you?” Rick grunts, his entire body shaking in turmoil. “You let that man fuck you? And hold you like I do?”

“No,” Daryl says quickly. “It ain’t like that—we ain’t like that—he just—”

“I fuckin’ love you Daryl,” Rick says desperately, he grabs Daryl’s arm roughly. “I would have done anythin’ for you, _anythin_ ’.”

“Rick—I swear it wasn’t like that—” Daryl begs.

“The fuck it ain’t,” Rick retorts. “I did everythin’ for you, everythin’ and you spread your legs like some fuckin’ _cunt_ —”

“Get the fuck off me!” Daryl tries wrenching his arm away, but Rick holds on tighter.

Then it was upon him.

The heat that was rampant beneath his skin, simmering at his core. Whenever he came in close proximity of Daryl, he felt it—the blast of passion so severe, so tangible, so _visceral_ it made him see stars.

The blood rushes south, his body hardens and thickens. Rick is caught between half-rage and half desire, eternally torn between the two extremes. One detrimental glance at those perfect apricot shoulders, dripping wet, so smooth and striking; along with those fierce eyes, glaring dangerously back at him.

“Rick—you’re hurtin’ me!”

The powdery skin so malleable and edible, he goes insane thinking about tasting it, running his tongue down the long column of Daryl’s neck.

By now Rick is thoroughly possessed, the demon spitting viciously in his ear to _take take take._

 _Dear God_ —he should, because Daryl owes him and because he fucking deserves this. All those weeks he spent thinking Daryl was so damaged for sex, too weak to emotionally to survive it and only now to find out now, just how wrong he was.

His eyes zero in on the towel.

It’s a flimsy white piece of cloth barely covering anything. Rick can see Daryl’s powerful legs, the strong thighs leading to the apex of the hidden cavern of treasures. His mind becomes saturated with pleasure, plunging his cock in and through Daryl, callous and punishing.

That sweet puckered hole aching to be filled, to be stuff violently and rammed viciously. Rick wants it bad, wants to watch it bleed while he fucks it raw, watching as his cock lunges and plunges destroying Daryl from the outside in.

Rick licks his lips, watching those hips flex and jerk, Daryl is animate in his explanation and far too rapturous with being right that he doesn’t see the vengeful twist of events. Or how Rick can’t tear his eyes off him or the inhuman growl he makes as his gaze devours those plump thighs.

Before he can think, he’s tearing the damn towel off.

Daryl yelps, frantically trying to grab it before it hits the floor. Rick shoves Daryl, brutishly pushing him on the bed and forcefully holding him down.

“Get off me!” Daryl screams, fighting with everything in him to get away from Rick.

As if through divine intervention, Rick becomes deaf and numb. The jealousy comes, swift and unyielding as he thinks about all those times he saw them together; Len touching Daryl, caressing him, fondling him.

The idea turns his stomach, but he can’t stop it.

Something within him finally snaps and he glares down at Daryl with such blinding red wickedness.

“Stop please!”

“No.”

That word—so simplistic and monosyllabic—changes everything between them, because now they both see the transformation. The demon morphs and manifests itself, cracking and shedding its skin until it is indistinguishable from Rick.

They are the same.

The monster from within bursts free and Rick can barely stop his heart slamming against his chest as he works to get his belt off. Daryl is beneath him, struggling hysterically with fright in his eyes.

Rick needs to be inside him, he needs to take him, needs to own him. The mantra doesn’t stop, over and over again as he works to get his pants off. The monster wants to fuck, wants to drive in and penetrate—he wants to spread Daryl wide and see what’s inside.

The demon wants to fuck the kid open—hurt him, punish him for what he did.

Rick pins him aggressively, clamping his hands around his wrist to stop Daryl from flailing. The action proves effective, because now Daryl is completely immobile.

There is so much noise.

Daryl is yelling, screaming and beseeching for Rick to stop.

However Rick is merciless, he’s given into his suppressed sadistic nature and is now savouring it. After several moments of ruthless fighting, Daryl turns completely silent.

It’s this silence that forces Rick to look down and see what he’s done.

Daryl is crying; his face turned stubbornly away as he clenches his eyes shut. Those blueberry tears are so baffling and beryl that it seizes his heart in his chest. It astonishing, that in complete and utter trepidation, he is still the most beautiful creature Rick has ever seen. Daryl’s face is deathly pale, his thin lips ashen and his entire body quivering in fear.

Rick looks down at himself.

His cock halfway out of his jeans, the head swollen, hard and ready, along with Daryl’s legs hooked over his shoulders as he gets ready to penetrate him— _to rape him_. Rick jerks away immediately, forcing his lungs to draw breathe as he scrambles away from Daryl like he had been burnt.

What the fuck just happened?

Several minutes ago he was so angry, enraged at Daryl for turning to Len for comfort and then suddenly things took a dark turn.

Rick sits on the edge of the bed, his throat clogging up and his eyes swelling with tears. He can hear Daryl crying gut wrenching tears of misery and anguish, knowing he caused it nearly kills him.

“I’m sorry—Daryl…I don’t know what came over me.”

Daryl turns away from him crying soft hiccups, lying studiously on his other side.

A sob wrenches from his throat, Rick covers his face with his hands trying to stifle the noise but it doesn’t make a difference. He sits there weeping and hating himself for becoming the one thing he swore to protect Daryl from.

After several moments, Rick feels a delicate hand on his shoulder and he turns to see Daryl gazing up at him. The look in the kid’s eyes is a mixture of weariness and tenderness.

“I’m so sorry,” Rick says softly.

Daryl nods slowly and then pulls Rick into a tight embrace.

Afterwards, it's the man who snivels and the boy who holds and comforts him, kissing his cheek delicately with a unfiltered, tempered innocence, brimming with forgiveness and distressing reassurance. They stay that way for a while, until Rick pulls back, gently cupping Daryl’s face. “Did I hurt ya?”

“No, I’m fine.” Daryl replies gruffly, his eyes are red and puffy.

“God, I’m so sorry. Ya know I would never—I lost my temper and I just—”

“I know.”

Rick quiets down now. He doesn’t know how to fix this or exactly what came over him, but he can’t ever allow it to happen again.

“I _went_ ,” Daryl says bitterly. “To school. I went the first day, got my notebook and the schedule for my classes. They said I’d have to start in grade nine again, which is fine. I was excited. I ain’t ever taken a shop class ‘fore. I thought it’d be nice, buidlin’ thangs with my hands….”

Daryl trails off.

This is it—the moment of truth where Daryl tells him everything that will tear him apart. Rick feels the tears well up; he’s ready to beg and plead for Daryl not leave him or to get down on his knees and kiss his feet.

For now he sits patiently, waiting for the inevitable end.

“Tell me.”

“He followed me home,” Daryl spits. “The first day I told him to fuck off, but he wasn’t hearin’ it. He started talkin’ ‘bout makin’ money again, ya know, whorin’ and shit. I was tempted, but I knew how much it’d let ya down so I didn’t do it. Things just went to hell from there. He just kept showin’ up, everywhere I went he was there and then I didn’t bother goin’ ta school anymore. There wasn’t much of a point anyway, Dixon’s can’t learn.”

Rick listens knowing all too well that this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“One day…it was when we were...gettin’ heavy and ya just pushed me away again, like I was nothin’. Like ya didn’t want me, tryna act all morally superior and shit.”

He remembers that day clearly, it was hot and humid and he had Daryl aching and yearning for him. Then he pulled away, spouting the same nonsense about how Daryl needed to heal first before they had sex and how Rick didn’t want to take advantage of the kid.

What a load of steaming shit.

He regrets that now, along with all the accusations and foul things he’s said to Daryl. This entire situation he brought on himself and that is worse than anything else.

“Len offered,” Daryl continues. “He said he could tell I was wound tight and that he knew better than anyone what I needed. The guy is a fuckin’ pick, but he can suck cock fairly well so I gave in. I let him suck me off—hell, I even _enjoyed_ that shit.”

The words are spoken plainly, with such unrefined fluidity that Rick can’t help but nod in accordance. He doesn’t bother stopping the visualization from coming; Daryl deriving pleasure from that sick, perverse man is enough to turn his stomach.

It’s his worst fucking nightmare.

On some level he brought this on himself. He was too courteous, too gracious in his stern affection for Daryl that he overlooked Daryl’s needs. The whole thing is so stupid, so wonderfully moronic and the only person he can blame is himself.

“I’m sorry,” Rick says again. “I was wrong. I should have listened before.”

Darly says nothing, he just stares pointedly at the comforter on the bed.

"I understand...before I didn't but now—"

“I don’t think ya do,” Daryl says tempestuously. “I’ve been doin’ this a long time—longer than I care to remember. Sometimes I need it—to fuck. It makes the pain of the past…. _bearable_.”

Rick runs his hand through his hair in frustration.

He understands that Daryl needs this, that Daryl needs sex to fill whatever emotional void he is feeling or some inept gratification. However, it would be wrong to take advantage of Daryl if he is going through that.

It's not that Rick doesn’t want him, quit the opposite, but giving in to this would be counterproductive to his recovery.

Not to mention the fact that Rick is applying for legal guardianship. If this ever came to light, he would be totally fucked. There are so many things that could go wrong, if anyone ever found out he would probably go to prison, have his title stripped and be publicly shamed.

The lives of his wife and children dragged through the mud as their father is taken away in chains.

 _Sweet Jesus_ —all of that paled in comparison to the desire pooling in his gut; the fire in his loins, the light of his life, his insatiable debauchery that needs to be quenched.

“Tell me what to do,” Rick responds feebly. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know,” Daryl mumbles. “But I can’t go on like before with ya pushin’ me away one minute and then claimin' love the next—it’s confusin'.”

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose.

The anxiety comes back full force because now he feels like a failure. How can he possibly help Daryl heal if they are sleeping together? How will he continue to be the upstanding man he was before if he is so entangled in his relationship with Daryl?

What the hell is he going to tell Lori when she starts to wonder if he is ever coming back?

These questions seem to have no answers and even worse they start to overwhelm him. A hand trails down his lower back; Rick turns to see Daryl staring at him.

“Just be with me,” Daryl says softly. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”

They are the survivors of a typhoon, lying wasted are eucalyptus leaves mingled with sweat and exertion. In his arms, Rick finds a measure of stillness, beneath the rampaging woes and worries of life that seem to afflict him.

Rick relishes Daryl’s smooth embrace, which is cool and welcoming, equal parts vindictive and settling. They lay together in silence, coiled around each other like barbwire and in his arms, Rick is able to quiet the fire within, allow it to burn low and dwindle into flickering embers until it finally flutters away.

Perhaps, in the end frost always kills fire.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Seta_Kaita for editing this chapter.
> 
> *Phew, I know it was tough to read.
> 
> Thoughts?


	18. My Center.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

The universe is filled with planets and stars, milky ways and flying meteoroids, all twisting together orbiting the sun. It’s vast and absurd all at once, immeasurable and timeless, infinite and frightening.

A plethora of hues, burning balls of light and gas, massive living things thrown out into the unknown.

This universe could be his to own.

He could, in theory, take it in the palm of his hand and cradle it to his beating chest. _Christ_ —that image causes his heart to flutter, Rick draws nearer to Daryl, gazing down at the kid who is sound asleep.

The effects of yesterday are still vibrating all around them, like an atrocious afterglow of brutal earth shattering tremors. Rick now understands, over weeks of intense useless pain and turmoil he put them both through, that it was so unnecessary.

They are for all intents and purposes, in this clusterfuck together and denying the most basic and a primal form of human interactions seems ridiculous.

Rick pulls back the soft blanket, fully aware of how Daryl is _still_ naked from earlier.

It seems undignified to have the kid on display, to watch him with hungry, devouring eyes and know that he is not conscious of it. Rick feels his heart quicken, the blood pulsing through his veins because he knows that he’s done with being morally superior.

Just like that, he’s over pretending to force these feelings down. Daryl told him he was ready, explained in vivid detail how much he wants _this_. Rick knows it will be inevitable, that sooner or later he’ll cave and implode, destroying them both.

Why not skip all the crap in between?

The mess with Len could have been avoided if Rick had just listened instead of _assuming_ he knew what was best. By now Rick was caught in Daryl’s atmosphere, hopelessly stuck in orbit.

Rick wants him ceaselessly; it's like a gnawing ache in his core or a thirst that can never be quenched.

 _Christ_ —he shouldn’t be shivering, the thought of diving into those still, deep waters make him tongue tied and breathless.

Surprise, surprise, surprise; Rick abandons all thoughts of morality, family, and duty, instantly falling prey to reckless inhibitions.

With one gentle pull the comforter falls away, leaving nothing but Daryl stripped bare. Rick allows himself to gaze fervently, the long endless legs and toned stomach, those pale wide shoulders and rippling pectorals.

He swallows thickly, the jeans he has on become tight and uncomfortable.

Daryl is so smooth, beautiful and flawless with the minor exception of the bruise Len left earlier. His eyes haunt south, following the minimal fine hairs down to Daryl’s resting pretty pink protruding cock.

“Spread your legs,” Rick mumbles his voice gruff and hoarse.

Daryl is awake, those slanted feline eyes studiously watching him.

For how long Rick doesn’t know, but what he does know is that he is no longer strong enough to hold back, no longer filled with the desire to remain on his Godly pedestal.

He wishes to be among the Angels.

The stars in Daryl’s eyes wink at him, the endless arch of void-blackness nearly consumes them both. Rick isn’t seeing anything beyond the Moon's bright corona.

There is moment of hesitation before Daryl complies, spreading his legs wider and observing his reaction. Rick makes a strange noise at the back of his throat and his hand trembles forward, trailing up the alabaster thigh until he reaches Daryl’s ass.

Using his fingers, he pushes one ample cheek to the side before tracing the vernal, puckered entrance. It's all so _hypnotic_ , the feel of rippled skin against his rough thumb or the light hitch of Daryl’s breath.

Rick withdraws his hand and reaches into the drawer to grab some lube.

There aren’t spangled rows of fireworks or lights, a rush of passion and eternal fire. The room is silent, except for the sound of Rick squirting lube into his hand.

It‘s a slow tedious process, Rick warms up the lube before he dives back in. His eyes widen as he makes exploratory circles around Daryl’s entrance with his fingers and then plunges in. There is an obscene squelching sound that fills the room, along with stuttering breaths and hiccupping moans.

 _In and out, out and in_ —Rick becomes mesmerized with the motion, his fingers being sucked in and the pressure of tight heat nearly crushing them.

By the time they get a proper rhythm going Rick is nearly salivating and Daryl is wanton, fucking himself on Rick’s fingers. Everything is raging hot; Rick might actually burst into flames.

He quickly removes his fingers, ignoring the impatient whine from Daryl, shedding his t-shirt and pants. By all accounts he should be exhausted, given the amount of shit he had to deal with yesterday; however he feels renewed— _revived_ like an old battery finally being charged.

Once he is naked the words he previously planned before die in his throat.

 _Dear God_ —Daryl is breathtaking beneath him, practically glowing with sweat and mirth.

“Whatcha gonna do, cowboy?” Daryl asks slyly.

Rick could clearly see the glistening intent of mischief in his eyes and the way his lips turn up in subtle rebellion.

Nothing was more erotic than watching this insufferable brat _finally_ succumb to him.

And Rick knew, with a distilled kind of knowledge, that this was it. No more whining or pretending to levitate on some moral ground high above the rest.

Tonight he lay with Adonis.

The sudden burst of adrenaline, infused with built up tension and imperishable need to consume Daryl, he was so worked up he nearly came from the sight. There was just _too much_ —too much yearning and wanting threatening to combust.

Rick didn’t think about anything beyond _this_.

Daryl smirks, opening his legs wider and giving him a come hither gaze.

Beyond the earth, beyond the sea, beyond plants and everything the eyes can see Rick is molten lava, flowing freely in the plains of Mars or weightless and boundless like the gases on Pluto.

He grabs Daryl’s hips roughly, jerking his entire body towards him. The action is abrupt and makes Daryl gasp loudly.

Rick leans in close, his whisper like hot thunder.

“Ride.”

There isn’t a point that Rick thinks to stop, the onslaught of emotions and the crazed haze of lust cloud his vision. He charges forward, melding their lips together in a brutish manner that is both horrid and ascending him into ecstasy.

Daryl is all hands and lips, barking curses and scratching wildly.

They slot together easily, by now it comes as second nature and through thrusting hips and rapid cries Rick sees glittering sparks of sequin slivers and polar whites.

By now he is hopelessly, utterly lost in space, adrift in the arctic cold being ingested by waves of furtive avidity. He could feel Daryl’s cock rutting against him, the eager and presumptuous organ was leaking enthusiastically.

Rick reaches between them, grabbing a firm hold and stroking languidly.

There is a soft murmur and a few appreciative pants. Rick is keen to push things forward, to ravish Daryl and fuck him into the mattress. All in due time, he decides to pace him.

 _Although, nothing is quite what it seems_.

Rick finds himself rushing more times than naught.

The blood surges south, the actions make his head spin and all too soon he’s flipped Daryl onto his stomach. The kid yelps loudly and then laughs when his face connects with the pillow.

There is some shuffling, some awkward shifting but Rick is far too impatient to get a condom. Logically he knows he should, all those diseases and whatnot but now he isn’t really thinking.

That ass is perky and perfect, perched on the blanket and practically _presented_ to him like an offering.  He bites callously on one of the white ivory globes, relishing in the firm skin and the way it turns a lovely shade of crimson afterwards.

The event is very enlivening.

Rick props one of Daryl’s legs up, bending the knee slightly so he can get a glorious look at that strikingly sleek, puckered hole. Fumbling the lube in his hand Rick moves hastily to drench his cock in it, spilling half of it and jerking himself several times before lining himself up.

 _God help him_ —he shoves forward, his cock instantaneously engulfed in torridity so extreme it nearly scorches him raw **.**

The sudden breach of muscle, thick, sweltering and _tight_ makes his throat go dry. Rick moves slow, trying to accommodate Daryl and also to stop himself from exploding.

Daryl’s face is pinched up and he’s gripping the pillow so hard his knuckles are white.

He leans down again, gently lapping at the kid's ear in restless reassurance. The need to move forward comes strident and Rick grits his teeth, clinging listlessly to Daryl’s narrow hips.

The next slide is much more fluid, the muscle expanding instead of residing, opening up and sucking him in. Rick groans loud and long as his cock plunges into deep, warm waters and for the first time in months he feels whole.

Everything after is easy; a series of hard, desperate thrusts that has him chasing the skyline.

The mingled smells of sweat and soap fill the air. Rick is a maniac, pounding brutally fast, gripping Daryl’s hips, bruising the tender flesh.

“Ugh, _fuck_!”

Rick knows he struck gold, fucking this intense black hole as it sucks the sperm from his cock. Breathing violently through his nose Rick moves with a primal-like grace, melding his chest to Daryl’s back and lifting his hips higher so he can plunge deeper.

Daryl is practically sobbing with pleasure.

The numbness from before resolves as Rick finally comes to fruition and it's damn near cosmological.

Sweat gathers on his back and lower brow, he sees luminous sparkles in the night, like someone had scatter Moondust and left it suspended above. Rick knows by now he is thoroughly _fucked_ , so in love with Daryl that he‘s passed all point of reason. He can feel his heart opening up, blossoming like a rare rose bud finally blooming.

Rick almost stops, he almost pauses mid-thrust to worship the boy beneath him.

However, the brusque onslaught on his dick is far too much to ignore, the white light is dancing before him and it compels him to propel forward, harder, faster.

 _Christ_ —he is so close, just above the ridge; around the corner he can feel his balls clenching.

Daryl convulses beneath him, shuddering and shaking with a loud cry that nearly shatters his bones. The slow incline into the abyss soon follows and he continues to move violently, fucking Daryl like his life depends on it.

The varicoloured ink appears, clearly and tactlessly as he dives in and the world fades away. Rick becomes blind with his eyes wide open, enjoying the sapphires and diamonds traipse across his vison.

With a drunken cry of gratitude, he ascends by passing this world and flying onto the next.

When he comes it's like a supernova, a vast explosion rippling through his entire body and momentarily paralyzing him. He collapses on to Daryl like dead weight, his entire body quivering from the aftershocks.

It takes him several minutes to calm his pitter-pattering heart and his senses to befall him. He uses his quaking hands to withdraw his limp cock from Daryl, already missing the insurmountable heat and lay down beside him.

Daryl’s face is still buried in the pillow.

“Hey,” Rick inches forward. “Ya okay?”

“Fuck, Grimes,” Daryl sighs. “I didn’t know ya could ride _that_ well.”

Rick laughs heartily and strokes the kid's sodden back. “It’s been a while, but I reckon I still had it in me.”

They share a look that turns out to be both intuitive and unifying. Within this glance Rick is able to discern that they have both crawled out of purgatory. This relationship has to be all or nothing.

Rick realizes that now, as hurtful as it will be for his family, he is oddly ready for the sacrifice.

Just one look at his boy, so bold, so beautiful and so brave, sweating profusely makes it all worth it. Daryl’s auburn hair is plastered to his face as he stares at him, beaming infectiously.

“I love you,” Rick breathes.

The elms and emerald birthstones glittered in his eyes, along with everlasting sparks of angel frost, of course when the night fades Rick will recall the flickering of evergreen jewels.

~*~

Their jittering jubilee lasts all through the night.

Wherein they barely leave the bedroom and when they do it’s only for food and bare necessities. The experience is unprecedented, it had a kind of charm that exceed all else and at that time (perhaps also several hours afterwards) he never wanted to let Daryl out of his sight.

Their legs were intertwined as they lay on the bed.

Daryl is fast asleep, finally succumbing to exhaustion from their strenuous activities earlier. Rick's cock is chafing something _fierce_ , along with a dull ache in his lower back that is growing rapidly by the second.

However, the delirium makes it all worth it.

His face is split in a silly grin and he can’t help but pull Daryl closer, kissing his shoulders and lapping at the skin. 

 _Dear God_ —he’s done it.

Rick made love to Adonis while Venus watched vengefully from afar.

The whole experience was dizzying and then randomly there is an abrupt feeling of weeping sadness that soon follows. Rick knows that to some degree he’s _failed_ Daryl—utterly and completely failed him.

How can be possibly be Daryl’s guardian when he has selfishly taken advantage of him? The doubt seeps in, webbing around his brain and clouding his thoughts. There were just too many questions and too many answers.

Regardless of all of that, he can’t stop.

Rick sags languorously against Daryl, feeling the weight of fatigue finally hitting him in full force. He closes his eyes and dreams of stuffing pretty pink puckered holes.

When he wakes several hours later the bed is cold and worst of all empty.

For a moment he lies there trying to quell is growing panic. The clock on the mantle shows it's well after mid-day and he should have been at work _hours_ ago.  Rick isn’t normally this reckless; in fact not calling into to work is certainly an anomaly.

He's blurry-eyed and delirious when he stumbles into the kitchen with his phone in his hand. There are four missed calls and several messages from Sasha and Tyrese. He calls them back immediately and then mumbles something about needing to take an emergency personal day.

Once that is finished he stands idle in the kitchen for twenty-five minutes.

There was a slight pressure building at the base of his spine, his heart racing rapidly in his chest because— _where the fuck is Daryl?_

The apartment is empty, that much became clear when he realized his voice practically echoes in the vacant space.

It’s not like the kid has school or anywhere else to be today. Rick would have known that, he would have known if Daryl made previous arrangements to be anywhere else.

The keys jingle in the door and Rick charges over in all his naked glory to open it.

When he does, Daryl stands there dumbstruck and then grins mischievously.

“What a greetin’,” Daryl says before closing the door behind him.

“Where were you?” Rick demands, his voice thick with sleep. “I woke up and just ‘bout damn near had a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” Daryl shrugs sheepishly. “Yer friend stopped by.”

All the beauty from yesterday is instantaneously wiped clean.

The delirium he felt before, from being high on saporous love and lust vanish. It’s a sobering effect, leaving him feeling anxious and hysterical.

There is only one person who knows where they live.

Rick swallows thickly, swiftly feeling naked and foolish all at once.

“Which friend?” He finally forces the words out.

“I dunno,” Daryl says flippantly. “The bald headed one on steroids or some shit. He was knockin’ on the door for nearly twenty minutes, the fuckin’ prick.”

Rick feels a knot tighten in his stomach.

Nothing really makes any sense. Why would Shane need to speak to Daryl? Why did he come here? “Ya answered the door?”

“Yeah,” Daryl huffs. “He said he needed me to come down to the station just to answer a few questions and do a test that’s it.”

“What questions?” Rick demands.

“Stuff ‘bout the case and Joe,” Daryl responds. “Nothin’ too serious. Why? What’s wrong?”

Rick stands there astounded, realizing that he’s blown the whole thing out of proportion in his head. Shane was most likely following up on closing the case with Joe, that’s why he needed Daryl. He chuckles lightly while shaking his head. “No…it’s okay…I thought…never mind…”

They stand there for several moments in silence.

Rick feels the urge to hold Daryl in his arms.

It’s thrilling and improper, however the need for reassurance bubbles in his gut. The kid is wearing a grey t-shirt with his signature army pants. It’s nothing new, but his loins stir and his heart swells deliciously. “C’mere.”

Daryl cuts his eyes at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Daryl.”

“No,” Daryl smirks taking a step back.

“Brat.”

“Old man.”

“You love it,” Rick stalks forward. “C’mere. I won’t ask again.”

For a moment he thinks Daryl won’t because the kid can be downright mulish given the chance,  but then Daryl takes a timid step forward and then another and then another. Rick grabs his narrow waists, bringing their bodies flush together.

“I reckon yer ready for round six?”

“More like round ten,” Rick says huskily. “ _Fuck_ , I could take you right now over this countertop.”

Before Daryl can respond Rick captures his lips roughly in a bruising kiss. Daryl squeaks indignantly before melting under it. Rick is ravenous, forcing his tongue down his throat and kneading his plump ass firmly. 

Those honeysuckle fuchsia lips make him want to ravage him vigorously.

Rick wrenches Daryl’s pants open, shoving his hand down towards his ass crack to probe insistently at the pretty pink, puckered entrance.

“Ya want me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Rick nearly hisses.

Daryl shoves him hard and he stumbles backwards onto the couch. Rick belts out a laugh when he narrowly misses the edge of the coffee table.

The kid crawls seductively on top of him, blinking stardust in arctic space and looking like a Cheshire cat that caught the canary.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to the rodeo,” Daryl drawls. 

When their lips collide it’s damn near explosive. Rick grunts and pants, thrusts and whines against Daryl knowing that this imperishable feeling will last a life-time. To live within himself is essentially to live with Daryl, although they are two souls—twofold.

With his eyes wide shut he sees the formation of the galaxy up close.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Duosdeathscythe for editing this chapter. 
> 
> And everyone who reviewed the last chapter you guys seriously rock!
> 
> Thoughts?


	19. One More Day...

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

For now he can revel in a haze of juicy, moist mango mist.

How strange it is; that a man of his position should be caught up in ample sapidity and succumb rapidly to sinuous papayas or sodden cantaloupes. _Christ_ —he can still recall the lemon citrus bittersweet saporous taste and how it brought him to oblivion.

Those simplistic analogies do nothing to quell the ever present hunger, the maddening feeling of diving in a plush, plump, protruding _peach_. Last night he tasted everything again, revived his soul and felt the insurmountable warmth of palatable flavour.

They’ve been fucking for two days straight.

The carmine hickey on his chest blisters and burns whenever his shirt rubs against it, which is a welcomed reminder of the wonderful things that have passed between them.

His back aches something fierce, along with several of his limbs which are now refusing to cooperate as they silently beg for _rest_. Rick ignores their cries and stubbornly carries on; there is too much work to be done and not enough time.

It was after noon when he received an anxious call from Lori.

She had been damn near frantic, crying and pleading for Rick to pick up Carl from school due to an emergency appointment with the doctor for Judith.

Reliable Rick had agreed instantly.

Now he was at the school waiting for Carl while Daryl lay leisurely naked on their bed waiting for round sixteen. Rick taps his thumb impatiently because it is five minutes after three and still no sign of Carl.

It’s been five weeks since he’s seen Carl.

After that emotional goodbye he hasn’t so much as called to check up on him. He knows that is beyond shitty and today he plans to do his best to rectify it.  

“Where’s Mom?”

Rick starts and then whirls around to see Carl standing outside the passenger window. The kid has grown at least three inches since they last saw each other.

There is something decidedly _off_ about his facial expression. For starters, Carl’s hair is longer and his eyes sharper as he grips the strap of his should bag.

“Hello to you to, buddy,” Rick replies. “She had an emergency with Judith so I am yer chauffeur for today.”

“Whatever.” Carl grunts dispassionately, climbing in to the vehicle.

“How was school?” Rick asks.

“Like you care,” Carl mumbles.

Rick doesn’t respond immediately because he understands a part of Carl’s hostility. To Carl and most likely Lori, it seems like he abandoned them for someone else. That is true; to some degree he did leave his wife and children for Daryl—nevertheless they don’t know the reasons.

He told Lori it was to keep Daryl safe and that it was only temporary.

Nonetheless, now he could see the suspicious glint to Carl’s eyes and the fast way he was quick to rebuff anything Rick said. Growing up, Carl had always been a bright kid and Rick was immensely proud of him, however in this instance he wished his son was more dolce and less aware of the things going on around him so he wouldn’t have to see _this_.

So that his son wouldn’t have to see how much of a snivelling coward his father truly is.

“Look,” Rick starts slowly. “I know thangs haven’t been normal lately...I know it’s been especially hard on your mother—”

“Do you know?” Carl scoffs.

“Carl,” Rick clips. “I know you’re upset and we will talk ‘bout it, but I am still yer father and I won’t have ya disrespectin’ me. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.” Carl mutters.

“What’s goin’ on with yer Mother?”

Carl shrugs and then stares out the window.

“Whatever happens just know that I love you and Judith very much,” Rick says slowly.

“What’s the point of that when you’re never here!?” Carl explodes.

Rick pauses momentarily, trying to collect his thoughts.

“I’m sorry—”

“You missed career day! All the other Dads were there and you weren’t! Mom said she called to remind you but you were dealing with special police business or whatever!”

Now he feels like a colossal piece of steaming, stinking shit.

What the fuck could he say to that? _Sorry son, I was fucking Daryl_? He cringes outwardly thinking about it and watches helplessly as the same look of brooding dissatisfaction crosses Carl’s face.

The same look Lori wears and it drives him utterly mad.

Rick is by definition a failure as father. He veers the car off the road and parks on the shoulder of the highway. There is a tense moment of silence where he feels a crushing, overwhelming sense of loss and emptiness. _How did he get here?_ Several months ago they were so close—the best of friends and now they were this, practically strangers.

Carl stares resolutely ahead, his azure eyes wilfully grazing out the window.

The perfidious grapefruit sun has begun to set, leaving behind rays of tawny colors. The festive flaming, flamboyant oranges blaze the sky and Rick thinks absently of fireflies.

Perhaps now, in the setting daylight, he has come to realize how much his obsession with Daryl is tearing his family apart. One look at Carl’s bitter face explains it all and Rick knows that he’ll have to do something to remedy it, but _what_?

He will never give Daryl up.

That is unquestionable, unfathomable, and therefore inconceivable. Yet, he cannot have both his family and his lover. For right now the decision is undecided.

 _Christ_ —the ache in his thighs grows exponentially as he ponders what to say next. The weight of the world is resting on his shoulders and he has to do something to make this right.

“I’m sorry Carl,” Rick begins. “I was...caught up with thangs at work but that is no excuse. I don’t want ya to think that you don’t matter and that work comes before your needs. I’ll go to your school in a few weeks and I’ll do the presentation myself.”

“The time already passed,” Carl huffs. “Everyone’s Dad already went.”

“I’ll speak to the principal,” Rick tries. “I'm sure he won’t object, especially if I bring a few other officers to speak about safety and the rules of crossing the road.”

Carl looks at him curiously. “Will you bring your gun?”

Rick shrugs. “I might have’ta if yer class is as rowdy as ya say it is.”

“Really?” Carl perks up, “That’s so cool! Patrick will go crazy, and Lizzie and Mika! You’ll come, right? What day, so I can ask my teacher?”

“I reckon,” Rick replies. “That it’ll have to be next Thursday, will that do?”

“Of course!” Carl exclaims, “Then it can be a whole show, where you take out your gun and tell them about that time you caught old man Miller at the bar and wrestled him down to the ground. Or how you disarmed five—no wait, ten guys with AK’s and took them down to the station.”

Rick chuckles. “Ya remember all that?”

“Of course,” Carl says. “I remember every case and every bad guy. The whole town talks about how amazing you are and I say 'that’s my Dad'. I want to be just like you.”

Rick swallows thickly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

An ordinary father would love the praise and adoration from their son. Hell, they would relish in it. However, Rick knew that there was a darkness that brews within him, constricting around his throat and strangling him. There was no way Carl could _ever_ know how deep his sickness ran and how much it consumed him.

“Is that right?” He answers dismissively. “Well, I’m not perfect but I do keep my word. Remember what I always taught ya—”

“Yeah, yeah, your word is your bond, I know.” Carl rolls his eyes.

“That’s right,” Rick says. “A man always keeps his word, Carl, and I want ya to have the same kind of integrity....I know things are strange now with me livin’ somewhere else and ya being raise just by your mother but all that will change eventually. I’ll figure somethin’ out. I just need time and I’ll make it up to ya.”

“Ice cream.”

“Huh?”

“That’s how ya can make it up to me,” Carl replies smugly.

“No.”

“But Dad—”

“No, Carl not before dinner.”

~

“You fed him ice cream?” Lori snaps.

There isn’t anything about his home that feels like _home_ anymore. For starters, there is a look of pure hysteria that crosses Lori’s face the minute they walk through the door. The house is a mess, dishes unwashed and piling up in the sink. Whatever is cooking on the stove is dangerously boiling over, while Judith wails in her high chair.

Rick stands there for several minutes, simultaneously struck with a strong urge to walk out and never come back. The fatigue he felt before comes back full throttle since he barely slept last night, choosing lay among the Angels.

 _Dear God_ —does he wish he was back there or somewhere else drifting in the galaxies. Now he must return to earth, where the blazing hot orange sun melt the illusions and bring reality crashing back.

Rick forces a smile and greets his wife, who then turns on him like a rabid dog the minute she learns that Carl _isn’t_ hungry because he had ice cream.

“The kid is too damn persuasive.” Rick mumbles, “I blame you.”

“Well, I’ll blame _you_ when he is still up past his bedtime, claiming that he’s hungry and asking me to cook for him again,” Lori hisses.

“Sorry.” Rick says even though he knows damn well he doesn’t mean it.

Carl disappears upstairs, leaving them alone to stew in the kitchen together. Rick doesn’t quite know what to do so he merely stares at his wife. The lines in Lori’s face look deeper, there is sullenness to her disposition that alarms him.

Judith wails even louder and Rick jumps into action by picking her up and cradling her to his chest. “Shhh, baby girl” Rick cooed, the action of gently rocking Judith is soothing and he finally relaxes as he tries to calm her down. “What did the doctor say?”

“Some kind of ear infection,” Lori replies and then turns off the stove. “I had to go to three different pharmacies because they didn’t have the medication for her.”

Rick strokes her head, enjoying the sounds of her tiny hiccups and slowed breathing.

“She’s exhausted,” Lori continues. “She hasn’t been sleeping and the medication takes a few minutes to start working. We’d been in the waiting room for hours before someone could finally see us.”

“It’s okay,” Rick replies. “Why don’t ya take a break? I’ll put her down and we can have dinner together.”

“Sure,” Lori answers.

Rick nods and then takes Judith upstairs towards her bedroom.

The journey isn’t long but for some reason Rick wishes it would last forever. Judith is sound asleep by the time he places her in her crib. The minute he places her down he watches her sleep for several moments, smiling to himself and wondering how his baby girl got so big in such a short amount of time.

It feels like time has been evading him, slipping right past his fingers and falling into the gorge. Rick swallows thickly as the sense of defeat washes over him again. _How can he be a good father like this?_ The sea of deception is too wide, too cavernous, for him to swim through.

Rick kisses her tiny head and then slips out of the room.

When he gets downstairs, Lori has put the dishes in the dishwasher and is now setting the table for dinner. Rick goes into the cabinet to get them some wine glasses and pours himself a generous amount.

They sit across from each other in stony silence with nothing but the sound of their forks scratching against the plates. The pasta is a bit burnt and the meat overcooked, nothing about the food tastes _good_ but he eats it anyway.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Lori demands before taking a sip of her wine.

Rick sighs. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_ ,” Lori spits back at him. “It’s been months.”

Has it really been that long? Has he really not spoken to his family, or at least seen his children, in that long? The thought of it turns his stomach violently and he places the fork on the table slowly to stop himself from throwing it across the room. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to win with ya.”

“This isn’t about _winning_.” Lori pounces. “This is about you being a father and a husband. Why didn’t you call us? Why didn’t you check in? Why do I have to hear from—” her voice cracks and shakes. “Shane that you got a new apartment.”

“Thangs just happened—”

“You’re lying.” Lori exclaims. “I don’t know what it is or _who_ it is but you will _not_ make a fool out of me, Rick, you won’t.”

“I'm sorry—”

“You’re always sorry, Rick.” Lori interrupts. “You’re so sorry that the words mean nothing anymore.”

“What else do ya want me to say?”

“You said that things will be different, that you will change.” Lori replies. “You said this was temporary. You said you’d be back. Well, here we are nearly two months later and nothing has changed.”

“It’s not that simple.” Rick sighs. “The case has gotten more complicated. Daryl doesn’t have anyone else, he needs me—”

“We need you more.” Lori says crossly. “You don’t think your _children_ need you? Or that _I_ don’t need you? I understand the circumstances, what happened to that boy was awful, but you should let the state look after him. Let them do their jobs and handle the situation, they’ll find him a good home.”

Rick remains silent, staring at his half eaten burnt pasta with dismay. The words Lori spoke make perfect sense; hell, he should have let Deanna take over the case months ago, the minute that he realized he was emotionally involved.

Now it’s far too late for that.

His entire body threatens _mutiny_ at the mere thought of ever leaving Daryl. Rick pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply. He needs to figure something out, but right now placation is the only means to bide some time.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Lori repeats after him, puzzled.

 “I’ll let the social workers deal with him.” Rick lies, knowing full well how ignorant Lori is to state protocols and procedures. “I’ll figure somethin’ out with Deanna and then….see if there is someone else who can take him.”

“Do you think she’ll go for it?” Lori asks keenly.

Rick shrugs. “She owes me a favor.”

Silence falls between them, where Lori just nods slowly before chuckling. Nothing about the situation is funny, in fact it anything but humorous. “I was—” Lori laughs again, this time it sounds more strangled, “so _scared_ that you wouldn’t come back. Before you left you had this look in your eyes—I’ve never—I don’t know what I would _do_ if…”

Then the inevitable happens: Lori breaks down sobbing relentlessly into her hands. The sound of her soulful cries reminds him of the string of a cello being plucked violently.

At this point, Rick is resigned.

He doesn’t bother looking at her tearful face to know exactly what is lurking there. He’s failed them all and the crushing weight of it makes his guilt intensify. There is a moment where the thinks about telling her, explaining that he can’t help the circumstances, but he’s fallen in love.

It’s so grotesque and horrific that he dismisses the thought immediately. _No, he made vows and he planned to keep them_. Where Daryl fit into this equation he had no idea. What he did know was that he needed to fix things with his family first.

So he does what any man would do. He stands up, walks over and pulls his wife into a bone crushing hug.

“I knew you would come through for us.” Lori weeps.

“I know,” Rick mumbles. “I’m sorry and I love you.”

Of course he lies.

It comes so naturally, so easy, that he doesn’t even blink anymore. Rick is accustomed to it by now; it has become essential to his survival. Perhaps, maybe someday he’ll look back and wonder if it was all worth it. _When his family disintegrates into nothing and Daryl is gone with the wind, what then?_

Rick will be alone with only his mendacities to comfort him.

 _He’s a Goddamn, twisted, sick bastard for doing this to her_.

In spite of all that, he feels it necessary to spare her feelings now, rather than later.

~

They decide to have a movie night during the middle of the week.

At first he was apprehensive about leaving Daryl alone for the night but when he called the kid had nearly jumped at the opportunity so Rick left it alone.

Besides it was nice to have time with his family as well.

It’s so easy to slip back into the family role, with his children bouncing around him and his wife desperately trying to cater to every whim. Rick should feel some type of remorse or some kind of guilt about hiding his lover from his family.

And he does, to some degree, feel horrified by his own actions.

But one simple glance at his family and he knows that they can never know the truth, they can never see the other traitorous side of him, filled with depravity and sin.

So, he lets his mind go blank and enjoys the moment.

Carl is wrapped up in his favorite blanket, his tiny body in a cocoon with just his head sticking out while Judith plays with her toys on the floor sucking religiously on a pacifier.

Rick unwinds with his arms around his wife and her head resting on his chest.

The atmosphere is warm and cozy as they all settle down to watch one of Carl’s favorite movies. Rick chuckles at his son’s outright commentary and Lori’s quick quips.

He places tiny kisses on Lori’s head, catching a whiff of her shampoo. It’s all so familiar; it’s all so welcoming that Rick nearly drowns in nostalgia. He recalls the joyous days when they were first married and how they lived with his parents until Rick could finally afford his own house.

Lori had been seventeen and three months pregnant with Carl brimming with light and happiness. Those days were long and gone, but Rick remembers them so vividly.

“Dad,” Carl says. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to fight like that?”

“Not if your Mom’s cookin’ gets any worse,” Rick teases. “We might be dead by tomorrow.”

Lori elbows him in the ribcage, “It wasn’t _that_ bad.” 

Carl and Rick share a look before bursting out laughing.

“It was pretty bad, Mom.” Carl replies. “Worse than the time you _tried_ to make brownies. I swear my class was sick for a week and Patrick _still_ can’t look at brownies without breaking out into hives.”

“Oh lord.” Rick chuckles. “The very thought of Lori’s _special_ brownies is enough to make me shudder.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lori laughs. “So, I can’t cook but at least I can fix a leaking faucet!”

“Yeah, Dad, you suck at fixing things!” Carl chimes in. “You couldn’t even fix my broken skateboard.”

“What the hell do ya need a skateboard for anyhow? The thing is a piece of wood with wheels.” Rick grumbles, “It cost nearly thirty five dollars to fix it.”

“It’s okay honey” Lori says, patting his arm. “You did your best.”

“What movie is this anyway?” Rick asks. “Iron Fist or Iron Toes?”

“Ironman,” Carl responds. “I said it like four times.”

“Whatever.”

They settle down to watch the movie. Lori intertwines their hands and kisses his bicep. Rick smiles and brushes his lips against her hair. “Ya smell nice,” He murmurs.

“Thank you,” Lori whispers back. “Listen, uh, Carl needs a ride home from school tomorrow. Can you pick him up?”

“Of course,” Rick says immediately. “What time?”

“Most likely around three,” Lori replies. “I reckon we could do something after as well.”

By the direction of this conversation, it suddenly becomes clear where this is going. He knows that, soon after, she’ll do everything she can to get him to stay. He did promise that he would come around more and that obviously meant spending less time with Daryl.

Until the case was over, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen to the kid; for now, Deanna has remained silent but he knows sooner or later she’ll come knocking.

He can’t stay away from Daryl for too long—his heart won’t let him. Rick knows that this moment with his family is the fantasy; it is what he wishes his life could be without the deviance running rampant through his brain.

Somewhere, down deep in the abyss, the love _is_ there for Lori but it’s distant, kind of like the bottom of a deep well. He _knows_ it’s there, he just can’t reach it.  The love he has for her is familiar— _easy_ , like wheat grass on a warm summer’s eve.

Nevertheless, his love for Daryl is tumultuous, like climbing the treacherous waterfalls of Babylon with nothing but thick jagged rocks beneath, but he knows what awaits him will be worth the climb.

“I’ll let ya know,” Rick says hesitantly.

He doesn’t want to promise her anything and for now it appeases Lori as she settle back against him and watches the movie. For several minutes he is lulled into submission, observing the mindless action on screen.

Eventually his eyes droop, fatigue beacons and his mind flutters to Daryl. The images morph and sharpen until Daryl suddenly transforms into a splendid spring fountain, sprouting fresh water from the ground.

He is in the midst of a Babylonian orchard surrounded by peach trees, gaping cape gooseberries, plump pumpkins and supple nectarines, not to mention the saccharine tang of citrus tangerines.

Oh, how lovely it will be.

 _Come with me and I will give you rest_.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Duosdeathscythe for editing this chapter.
> 
> *Wow, I am constantly blown away by all the support! You guys are seriously amazing.
> 
> Thoughts?


	20. No prize could hold sway

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_  

And so he will acknowledge, hereafter that he is indeed rotten.

There is some measure of brown pus leaking from his extremities, along with fuzzy blue mold accumulating on the side. It is by far fucking _nasty_ , but he has been rotting for so long he barely notices it anymore.

The once glistening apple skin is now shrivelling, caving inwards as the bacteria feeds on it. Perhaps it might have been the sin catching up to him and the depravity of his actions finally taking root, but Rick finds that he doesn’t care much anymore.

Before he was a dutiful man, loyal husband and floating on some ethical high grounds, but now he recklessly doesn’t give a fuck, bouncing precariously on love so intoxicating it could kill him. However, his body continues to fester, the ambrosial twang turning sour and bitter.

This becomes clear after spending the night with his family. When he realizes the rare and glorious moments with them don’t solve anything at all, instead all it does is flame the fumes of his lies. Lori and Carl are currently sedated, gullibly believing his fables of undying commitment and devotion, all that nonsense.

He doesn’t know what will happen when everything precipitously crumbles and he is left standing in the rubble but what he does know is that he’ll be damned if he loses Daryl on top of his family as well.

So he waits, cautiously and diligently, splitting his time between his lover and his family.

It’s not easy at first, mostly because Daryl is above all else petulant and fucking devious when it comes to spending time together. On more than one occasion he’s had to cancel with Lori and Carl because Daryl decided to go hunting and didn’t say a _damn thing_. Or when the kid beckons him to stay with his delicious lips wrapped around his cock, Rick is powerless to resist.

Needless to say, that ended with Rick bending the kid over the nearest surface and fucking so hard that they both fell into another dimension. _Christ_ —when would it end? Rick thought that after months his desire would fade, that the sweet rudimentary ruby sirens would no longer sing to him.

Now it seems to have intensified tenfold.

He can barely part from the kid for a single evening. When he is with his family all he thinks about is Daryl and it is starting to become problematic. Rick concedes now as he comes to the slow and painful realization that things have changed drastically.

He no longer seeks the refuge of his family or finds rest within the bosom of his doting wife and instead finds solace in the arms of a young boy. There is nothing natural about that, nothing ordinary about being drawn almost helplessly to a child. Rick wonders, absentmindedly if his obsession and possession of Daryl has anything to do with his own childhood.

With his father being an unmoveable rock, seemingly made up of solid granite, both taut and stern at the same time. Or his mother who withheld so much emotion that it swelled in her gut and she died from cancer several years ago.

Maybe it’s the fact that Rick spent years at Shane’s house and his father never batted an eyelid, only when he graduated from the Police Academy did his father finally return from being a pillar of salt into a living human being. It’s not like they had the best relationship, Rick can recall on several occasions when he wished his father would just drop dead. When the old goat finally did he felt nothing, just an overwhelming sense of relief.

No, his love for Daryl has nothing to do with that.

By now the past has no bearing in the grand scheme of things. Rick has taken a mistress, a lover and someone he has no intention of ever releasing. And his family will have to find some way of dealing with it. Rick just needs to formulate a plan, one that has Lori remaining elusive and passive and Carl forever in the dark about his current lifestyle.

At the present moment, Rick is bathing with his little mistress, rubbing his downy skin, peppering it with pleasing radish kisses and until it turns a lovely shade of blistering carmine. And then of course, cooing over Daryl’s snubbed like nose and gracious features, along with those endless powerful legs and twangy strawberry wit. When they both leave the tub to get dressed Rick is assaulted by how much he cherishes his cherry lover, who is both challenging and changeable. 

Rick fucking _adores_ him—it’s nonsensical and disastrous but he can’t seem to help himself.

Oh, even now as he sits beside Daryl at the dinner table does he feel an immense wistful cheeriness that colors him pomegranate.  Rick doesn’t really understand where these feelings are coming from because he’d already told Daryl that he loves him, but perchance saying it isn’t enough?

For it had to be Daryl’s strange combination of naiveté and quick deception, his unrelenting charm and perplexing vulnerability that made Rick fall desperately for him. 

Rick doesn’t even understand where these tremendous feelings of adulation and proclamation are coming from; all he knows is that he’s ready to burst.

It’s a lazy afternoon in August; the sun is searing and merciless. They sat down to have a quick lunch before deciding what to do the rest of the day.

“Theres a carnival the next county over,” Rick says lowly.

Daryl hums in agreement. “What’s that?”

The question doesn’t surprise him. Lately he’s been going over some of the school curriculum with Daryl just in case the kid decides to go back.

It’s not bad so far and Rick was astounded to learn that Daryl is actually quite smart in Math; it’s just English he struggles with. Once he made the mistake of asking Daryl why he enjoyed Math so much and he kid at told him point blank: _How else was I goin’ to know if a John was robbin’ me?_ Rick never asked again.

“Well, it’s like a county fair with clowns. It has the Ferris wheel, rollercoaster and teacup rides, lots of cotton candy, popcorn and games,” Rick explains.

“What’s cotton candy?” Daryl asks.

“It’s like….well….pure sugar….but foamy,” Rick shrugs. “It tastes real sweet.”

“Is it like ice-cream?” Daryl’s entire face lights up.

Rick laughs. “No, it ain’t cold or nothing but it’s still very sweet.”

“Okay,” Daryl responds. “When can we leave?”

“Now if ya like,” Rick says and then Daryl jumps up, runs into the bathroom to get ready while Rick puts the dishes in the sink. Rick changes into a crisp white t-shirt and pale blue jeans, while Daryl opts for wearing all black along with his combat boots.

They leave within the hour, both of them brimming with excitement and the prospect of a new adventure.

And soon after Rick realises that being rotten isn’t so bad, as long as he is with his blushing pubescent concubine then things are alright.

~

The world fades around them as they drive towards their destination.

For now he can bask in lingering satisfaction that their trip will turn out well. Daryl is already gleefully restless, with his arm out the window, sucking on a raspberry lollipop.

Rick pretends not to watch the tip of the lollipop dance around Daryl’s lips or his tongue darting out for a taste, even though his pulse is racing. Of course he could turn his head, catch a glimpse of the action up close and see with vivid imagery how absolutely _burlesque_ it is.

However, he doesn’t and remains resolute in his current course. The hour is already late; the sun is starting to bleed, blending from tangerines into blood oranges and mulberries. There is an old country song playing on the radio, Rick can hear the southern drawl in Charlie Daniel’s classic _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_.

When they arrive the carnival is in full swing.

Daryl looks stupefied as he gazes at all the flashing lights, the rides and the games. There are a number of families mulling about, along with small children running around. Rick hooks his fingers in his pale blue jeans, jerking his head to the game of skill, which requires hitting a target with a weapon.  

“Step right up,” A man announces. “Who here can hit the moving targets? If you hit more than five you get a prize! Step right up!”

“What do ya say?” Rick grins.

Daryl smirks. “I hope ya ain’t a sore loser Grimes.”

“Me?” Rick feigns being wounded. “I don’t lose.”

To say he lost would be polite. Daryl absolutely _decimated_ him, which is quiet humiliating considering that he is a police officer. The kid struts away from the booth with six small stuffed animals including a snake.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Daryl says, nudging his shoulder. “I’ve been shootin’ targets since I was old enough to hold a bow. It ain’t like firin’ a gun, it takes more practice and precision than ya think.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rick grumbles. “Lucky shot is all.”

They meander around a bit, Daryl enthralled with all the sights and sounds, the sheer noise of children shrilling and flashing lights. It seems like something out of a dream or terrifying nightmare, where clowns jump out randomly and there is a barrage of strange images everywhere.

As they walk Rick catches a glimpse of a cotton candy stand and rushes over to purchase some while Daryl waits. He laughs candidly when he jogs back over, carrying two very large pink cotton candy cones.

Daryl takes it cautiously, his eyes roaming over the plush pink foamy substance. “What do I do?”

“Ya eat it silly,” Rick says with his mouth full already.

The kid takes a distrustful bite, his face wincing and twisting as the pink cotton candy melts on his tongue. Then he takes another, then another and then another until he is breaking off big pieces and shoving them into his mouth. “S’good….sweet….it might better than ice-cream.”

“There ain’t nothin’ better than ice-cream,” Rick responds smiling. “I’m glad ya like it.”

“It’s better than that lollipop I had earlier,” Daryl gives him a sly wink.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Rick mumbles back, earning him a loud laugh from Daryl.

Although he is _half_ joking that doesn’t stop his heart from racing or the dubious incline of desire flapping unceasingly in his core. There is a red light hue cast over Daryl, his eyes are wide and his lips pink from ingesting all that sugar.

In that moment he steps forward, there are so many people mingling around them but Rick hardly seems to care. The tension inspissates, until after several moments of hooded gazes he is assaulted by the golden crack of passion. He starts breathing in slowly the thick fragrance of yearning as he stares at Daryl.

The kid is all languid smiles and subtle salacious suggestions.

Rick doesn’t hesitate, he cowards Daryl’s space, worming his fingers up his black shirt and resting them casually on his hip bone. “I bet that lollipop tastes real good,” he says gruffly, his unshaven cheek pressed up to Daryl’s.

“Wouldn’t ya like to know?” Daryl answers back.

Rick snorts a laugh, and then steps away from the kid to finish off his cotton candy. Afterwards he guides Daryl towards one of the rollercoaster rides. Luckily the line isn’t too long as they wait on the platform for the rollercoaster to come.

They grab a seat, both of them crammed together tightly. Daryl grabs his hand as the conductor makes sure they are secured in their seats.

The ride starts slow, ascending higher and higher and by then Daryl looks ghostly white. By now his ears are hypnotized by the clicking of the gears while he watches the rollercoaster ascend impossibly higher.

Rick intertwines their fingers. “Relax you’ll be fine.”

“I can’t…this is…there is no way I can do this…I mean… what the _fuck_ is this thing anyway? It’s a goddamn death machine!'” Daryl says with a pinch of hysteria. “We’re gonna die! How is this even legal?”

Suddenly he is hit with the most mischievous idea and leers wickedly. First he looks around, and then slips his hand out of Daryl’s before placing it on the kids lap.

“ _Rick_!” Daryl gasps indigently.

“Just calm down,” Rick responds smoothly, inching his fingers upwards and then rubs the kid’s bulge. Daryl nearly yelps when he strokes his cock through his jeans, until he finally unwinds from the touch. The rollercoaster is climbing and he bites back a laugh when he watches Daryl slowly close his eyes, swooning in ecstasy.

They share one lasting look before they all the noises stop and he feel a rumbling as gravity rips the cars down, the wind is slapping him in the face as it would if he placed his head out of the window of a speeding car.

He can hear piercing screams of all the thrill seekers behind and in front of him only boost the adrenal glands into full throttle; his body is shaking from the twists, turns and loops.

The exhilaration _consumes_ him as he feels the sling shot of velocity every drop he takes.

Daryl has his head thrown back, exposing his naked swan neck where a fairy-tale vampire would sooner attach itself to.  Then he feels the abrupt jerk of the rollercoaster as it makes a sharp turn and his body slams against the side.

Everything is racing around him and he feels ultimately high as they the rollercoaster moves and shifts rapidly.

The ride then comes to a stop and instantaneously he feels like doing it again or simply vomiting. Daryl seems to mirror his emotions because the kid hardly waits for the conductor to let them out before he is jumping out of one the carts and scrambling to the far corner of the platform. The entire scene makes Rick laugh so hard he’s doubling over, causing several of the families to stare at the pair of them.

Finally Rick exits the cart, trying to stifle the last ripples of laughter threatening to burst free.

“You are such a fuckin’ jack ass!” Daryl belts as soon as they are off the platform. “Ya didn’t say I’d nearly die from that damn thing!”

“Ya never asked,” Rick chuckles. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Daryl simply glares at him.

That causes Rick to laugh harder.

~

For a moment he pictures enchanted red delicious apples; that are oftentimes speckled with faint white lenticels and a floral aroma.

Rick imagines they taste luxurious and briefly toys with the idea of feasting on a mountain of delectable apples. Daryl is sitting moodily on the picnic bench, with his stuffed animals in his lap while he sucks on a cigarette. They are quiet now, Daryl still reeling from the intense rollercoaster ride, while Rick remains reflective.

Today has been absolutely exuberant.

He is already vigorously planning the next outing and wondering if he’ll ever get to see the look of pure freedom ever cross Daryl’s face ever again. It had been unequivocally transcendent, beyond tantalizing to see the kid finally let loose and be _free_.

“Still mad?”

“Yup,” Daryl replies, flicking his cigarette away. “You’re a bastard.”

“Thank you,” Rick says. “I’m glad yer havin’ fun.”

Daryl is silent for a moment, his face pensive as he contemplates the evening.

“Yeah, it was fun,” Daryl answers steadily gazing up at him.

All at once he feels the withering longing for his lover again, so monstrous was his appetite for his miserable lover. The feelings all come at once, leaving him laborious and floating at the same time. Rick doesn’t understand why the prodigious sense of distressing arousal adorns him, which is both wrong and making him distraught.

For months he has forsaken his morals.

Behind the rationale that what he is doing is love and he loves Daryl so shouldn’t this be right? Nevertheless, now all he can think about is how he shouldn’t be feeling any of this and how he’s betrayed Daryl in the worst way possible. _Maybe they should stop?_ Maybe he should renounce these unnatural feelings and return back to his old life.

There is still time to make things right.

If he were to abandon these reckless inhibitions and force Daryl to go back to school or perhaps therapy again then it’s plausible that they can get back on track again. Rick can return to his family and his lackluster life.

Yet, in order to do that he would have to cut out his beating heart, smash the organ until it is a pile of effervescent, closely resembling a crushed tomato on the floor.

Rick is above all else _selfish_ ; therefore his love for Daryl is selfish.

“What is it ‘bout ya that makes me so hot?” Rick demands all at once. His sudden harsh tone surprises them back and even causes Daryl to start.

“I dunno,” Daryl responds wistfully. “Nothin’ new there. Yer like every other fuckin’ John that’s been crazy for my ass.”

“Is that what I am to you?” Rick replies. “Every other John?”

“’Course not,” Daryl mumbles. “S’just yer all the fuckin’ same sometimes. Talkin’ ‘bout a better life and shit, like those same rules apply to me.”

“They would if you let them,” Rick says sincerely and then sighs. “ _Fuck_ , I’m absolutely crazy for ya.”

“I’m crazy fo’ ya too,” Daryl confesses shyly, which causes him to stammer and blush his way through the words. The kid ducks his head immediately afterwards as if he was expecting an adverse reaction.

He is awestruck by the admission and smiles fondly at the kid.

“Is that true?” Rick responds huskily. “Are ya crazy fo’ me?”

“Ya know damn well it is,” Daryl grunts.

Rick doesn’t hesitate in pulling the kid to his feet and into his arms. “I love you so much.”

“Not here,” Daryl stops him with a firm hand on his chest.

“Why not? I don’t care and I’m sure they don’t,” Rick gestures to the other families around them. “Just one kiss, what’s the harm?”

Daryl bites his lips, glancing around guardedly. “Just one ya sick fuck.”

Looking back he doesn’t know precisely why he did it. Or why he chose to jeopardize his entire future for something as simplistic as a kiss. Nonetheless, in the moment it seemed perfectly justifiable.

When their lips connect and he feels the searing reins of passion ignite his core he pulls himself back immediately to stop from pushing onwards.

 _Eat of the apple so young_.

Rick cups the back of Daryl’s neck, breathing in the soft scent of the kid as they get ready to leave the carnival. The moment they pull apart Rick looks up and is startled when he sees the man from the motel glowering at them from across the grass.

The man is the pirate, the owner of the motel off highway 95.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity until the man breaks off, weaving into the crowds until he is lost in the sea of people. Rick feels a rapid spike of morbid anxiety, he is now lost in a forest of his own iniquity.

Daryl squirms out of his arms and Rick stands there trying not to appear shell-shocked. He forces himself to calm down and focus.

_It’s not like the man knows who he is, right?_

He could chalk all of this up to a simple coincidence and nothing more.

~

On the drive home Rick is stricken.

He is completely perplexed and arrested by his own panic to fully comprehend what he should do about this situation or if he should do anything at all.

The pirate said he was new to Byromville, so he could easily search the police directory to see if the man had any outstanding warrants. No, that wouldn’t work if the man was clean as a whistle then he would end up with nothing.

 _Fuck_ , Rick clenches his fist tightly. 

When they get home Daryl goes to bed, while Rick lingers in the living room. He sees a message blinking on the machine and turns it on.

“ _Yeah, two Big Macs and a large Coke…..Is this thing on? Oh Rick, I am so glad I caught you. Listen, I just received the most amazing news about Mr. Dixon and I can’t wait to share it with you. You’ll be happy to know that it’s regarding the case and I think at this point we can kill two birds with one stone and you won’t have to be Daryl’s legal guardian anymore. Anyways, call me….No, Spencer I said two Big Macs…_.”Click.

Those mystifying red delicious apples; that are oftentimes speckled with faint white lenticels start to rapidly deform. Until they start decaying from the outside in, growing brown mold, smelling strongly of mildew and decay.

 _Christ_ —by now Rick was in a state of putrefaction, he is so fucking moronic, so stupid, so ignoble and above all else so absolutely _rotten_.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to Skarlatha for editing this chapter.
> 
> *Okay, so from here on things will pick up drastically.
> 
> Thoughts?


	21. Feast like a Sultan, I do

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

This Paradise is at the edge of a cliff.

At first glance it is the epitome of the North American evergreens, with oatmeal Oak tree’s leaking syrupy sensual goodness, amongst abundant coves. Sunlight flitters lazily and latent, cresting the trees tops.

Rick relishes in this wonderland, finding it arresting and fascinating all at once. However, nothing is what is seems and he knows with sobering rapidity that a simple breeze can tip nirvana off the edge of the cliff.

It’s true, Eden is spanning far and wide, luscious greenery and infinitely biennial but balancing precipitously precariously at the precipice of eternal damnation, caught between dooming death and divine abode. He cannot fathom failure, which in turn is the equal measure of the sinister fall down into the abyss.

As the world tilts and utopia shudders, their entire world leans sideways and slides off into the unknown. Rick can feel it, the axis and plates fluctuating and alternating until it completely capsizes, taking everything with it. 

There is a panic that swells in his chest; he masks it hastily by plunging deeper, using his hips as a piston as he _drives_ his cock home. Daryl is beneath him of course, his legs wrapped around his waist as his swan neck is thrown back.

That delicious, delectable, insatiable ass which was begging to be rammed violently was perched and perky, limpidity threaten deformation as Rick continue to hammer Daryl’s sweet, succulent hole.

 _Good gracious God_ —Rick felt like he could stuff it a million times with his cock and still feel immensely ravenous. That alone has him thrusting wildly; fucking his wingless dove until goose skin erupts on his flesh and tears pricks his eyes.

There isn’t anything he loves more than being inside of Daryl.

However, at the back of his mind he can hear the sound of a ticking clock. It so fucking loud and distracting, the visions tumble cross his eyelids and he grinds his teeth in frustration.

Rick should be here, in this moment relishing in his beautiful pubescent boy trembling under him, but all he can think about is the strident hysteria forming at the base of his skull.

He grunts loudly, breathing harshly through his nose as he fastens down on Daryl’s arm. The obscene slap of skin against skin fills the air as Rick watches in rapture as he cock slides delicious out of Daryl’s hole, covered in a film of sleek slick.

The heat is upon him again, famished and rigid as he buries himself to the hilt, hammering away like a madman.

By now he should be utterly delirious, rhapsody in splendid euphoria but he _isn’t_.  

All he can see is the disaster awaiting them and the feeling of wrongness coating his entire body making him itch with anxiety. The terror he feels intensifies when Daryl moans in his ear, those saccharine sounds should harden his cock and make him see galaxies, instead still he feels so damn hollow.

Growling in irritation he flips Daryl over onto his stomach, which isn’t at all smooth and Rick can feel his patience running thin as his intolerance rises. Daryl squawks indignantly and Rick doesn’t give him time to adjust before he _shoves_ his cock back in.

Rick doesn’t want to think, he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to dims the noise of his thoughts.

It all started a few days ago...

When he got home from the carnival he had received a voice message from Deanna.

It was a simple message, which ended with Deanna asking when she could stop by the office because she had some exciting and unexpected news to tell him about Daryl’s case.

Rick sat in the dark for several hours, marinating in stony silence as he replayed the message over and over again. By the one-hundredth time it all became clear to him; Deanna had found someone to _take-in_ Daryl.

Soon after Rick deleted the message and wiped his entire voicemail box clean.

The next day he was late meeting Lori, Carl and Judith at Chucky Cheese. Rick arrived at the restaurant in a _foul_ mood, bristling with anger so ripe it fragranced his entire body like a sewage. Needless to say their time at Chucky Cheese ended in abrupt silence with all of them leaving steaming mad.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t even spend the evening with Daryl; instead he had to watch over Judith and Carl while Lori ran some errands.

That had been several days ago.

Rick forces his thoughts not to go south because he can feel everything starting to fall apart, his sense of control is slipping. He tries to get caught up in the misty tenderness and fall into the mountains of decadent, unencumbered cushioned folds but his thoughts are racing.

The images start to weed, swift and raucous of Daryl being ripped away from him. _Dear God_ —now he can see it, hovering at his periphery as his love is forever lost to the wilderness of despair. That damn clock, ticks and ticks and ticks until everything they once had wilts away.

The panic inside him ignites, like striking a match and it _inflames_ him.

Rick is beyond exasperated at this point and he twists Daryl around onto his back before diving in again. The kid takes everything and gives it back with equal measure, moaning and sighing laboriously.

Daryl leans forward and peppers his cheek with kisses. The second their lips touch Rick devours his mouth, pushing his tongue deep into his throat, nipping and biting roughly. Spark kindles between them as he propels forward, greedily sucking at the alabaster skin. He grabs Daryl’s plump ass, spreading the cheeks wider as he fucks it vigorously.

Their lips clatter; he licks and nips at the kid’s lower lip, drawing it between his teeth. He tries his best to memorize Daryl’s delicate skin or the iron tight grip of his pretty puckered hole, but that does nothing to quell the growing apprehension.

The thought of Daryl _without_ him, the idea of his precious peach studiously unattended and left to fend alone is inconceivable. _What the hell was Deanna going to do anyway?_ Where was she going to take him? _The stupid fucking bitch would just put the kid in another home_. There he would rot forever; their tantalizing love will fade into nothingness.

 _Damn them, damn them all_.

Rick feels it now, the blinding rage surges through his body and he jerks his hips callously, the move is vicious and it causes Daryl to cry-out. With a large hand he possessively clamps down on Daryl’s neck, panting coarsely in his ear. “I love you.”

The words are strangled, a mixture of raw desire and pure frenzy.

A shadow comes, dark and ominous, winding around him like a familiar cloak. The demon takes its rightful place, sitting brandish on top of his shoulder, its claws digging into flesh. Until it starts bouncing, cruelly jumping up and down.

The weight of the creature is crippling and he watches in horror as his shoulder tears open, bone separating from flesh and blood gushing wildly. Rick hears the audible crack, the snap of bone as it bursts.

This must be his hell.

Of course he deserves it, to have the bones torn from his body. He has forsaken his family, his beloved family for one person. _Was it worth it?_ Now that everything is destroyed and he is stuck with ashes and debris.

“Rick.”

This cannot be the end. He won’t allow this to be over. Daryl is his—he owns him, he made him and he will damn well _keep_ him. _Fuck Deanna. Fuck that heartless bitch if she thinks for one second he will ever succumb to her_.

“Rick!”

_Goddamn her—goddamn her to hell._

“ _Uh_ ,” Daryl gasps. “Rick stop, yer hurtin’ me.”

Rick immediately pulls back, his mind scrambling to find out exactly where things went wrong. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No....” Daryl answers slowly. “Yer just a bit too rough is all….everythin’ alright?”

Rick looks down at him and sees the evidence of his aggressiveness. Daryl’s lips are swollen and bruised, his entire face is flushed a deep dazzling ruby red.

“I’m sorry….I just…” He trails off. “I’m a little distracted I guess…”

“Distracted?” Daryl huffs. “Ya got yer cock up my ass and yer distracted? Dang, I must not be doin’ a good job.”

Rick sighs deeply. “It’s not you…I just….”

“What is it? Tell me,” Daryl implores, stroking his hair.

Rick looks at him, the fretfulness brewing in his veins. “I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?” Daryl asks perplexed.

Several months ago he was a good man, before the siren seduced him. Rick remembers how he was before, lacklustre and reputable. He lived his life honestly and with integrity, he had the respect of his colleagues and his family.

And now he can barely function.

He needs him, wants him and doesn’t want to live without him. _When did things change so drastically?_ When he looks back will he be able to pinpoint the exact moment his obsession turned into folly? His eyes sting as he tries his best to appear neutral; however he has never been able to really hide his emotions from Daryl.

“Rick..?” Daryl asks alarmed.

“It’s nothin’….it’s nothin’,” He replies dismissively. “Let me have this….I need you.”

“You’re a shitty liar.”

“Don’t fight me please,” Rick feels his poorly concealed control slipping.

There must be something in the way his voice shakes or the threatening waterfalls in his eyes that makes Daryl relent instantly. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Rick echoes and then crushes the kid to his chest.

There is a plaintive, neutral murmur in response as Daryl languidly ruts against him. And _yes_ , with the heat upon him and the enchanted maundering necessity to become one again, Rick lunges in.

Not like before, nothing like before.

Rick kisses the kid’s skin as if it were velvet silk, munching and sampling at the powdery membranes. “I love you.”

Once the words are uttered his throat clogs unbearably and his stomach wrenches. Rick feels turmoil roll through him and he clings to Daryl desperately. 

After a while, the emotional pain begins to fade and Rick moans softly, because in spite of all these intense and dissatisfying events the slow drag of his mushroom tip cock, through Daryl's tight canal is enough to make him vaguely loom on ecstasy. “ _Fuck_.”

Daryl is sodden; clinging to him tightly as they writhe nakedly and chase the heavens. Several minutes pass but he continues to fuck the tucked in buttocks, scrotum as red and veined as an autumn leaf in rain, and penis as big and dark as a bloodsucker. The sinuous drag and push and pull cause Rick to crack.

And finally he erupts, like a volcano of tumultuous desire he ascends into the hemisphere, where up is down and down is up, and utopia slowly starts to resemble eternal hellfire.

~

The fall of course is not immediate.

It happens over a period of time. The granite splits, rocks splinter and soil scatters, trickling down.  _Christ_ —he wishes he could stop it and after all the shit he went through to make sure he became Daryl’s guardian he knew this day would come sooner or later.

For hours he ponders the news Deanna might have, the possibilities and probabilities driving him up the wall. It’s likely that she could have found someone else to take Daryl in. Which doesn’t make any sense since he is Daryl’slegal guardian? They are just waiting for the judge to sign off on it.

Perhaps she decided that it was unethical, considering he was responsible for killing Joe? That thought also leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Nobody mourned Joe, the bastard died like he should have and good riddance too. _So why did she want to see him?_ It makes absolutely no sense.

The morning light shines through the curtains and Rick remains seated at the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees. He’s been torturing himself for hours, thinking and theorizing, by now he knows his best bet was is to just see what Deanna wanted and then make a decision then.

Daryl stirs beside him, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets with only his head poking out. Rick chuckles lightly to himself, because the kid sort of resembles a water-lily.

“Mornin’,” Daryl hums, those emeralds shimmering in the light.

Rick can’t bring himself to speak just yet, so instead he watches with a small sad smile.

“What is it?” Daryl presses again, his voice stern. “You’ve been off all night.”

He turns away, resting his head in his hands for a moment of reprieve. The last thing he wants is for Daryl to get worked up and start to panic. After all it could be nothing.

Or it could be everything.

Rick is incline to believe that things will ultimately work out for the best and he still has time before he needs to contact Deanna. “Nothin’...go back to sleep.”

“Cut the shit,” Daryl grunts, while he tries to sit up. “What the fuck is goin’ on? I ain’t stupid. Yer all messed up over somethin’.”

Rick sighs, long and hard. “Just….I’m tired is all....nothin’ to worry ‘bout….”

“Is it that Shane guy?” Daryl asks softly.

Rick turns to him, mildly startled. “What does he have to do with this?”

Daryl shrugs. “I dunno…he’s been sniffin’ ‘round lately….I thought maybe….”

“Don’t worry about him,” Rick replies coolly. “I’ll take care of that. You’ll be safe I promise.”

“A promise is a comfort to a fool,” Daryl responds dryly, throwing the blankets off and storming off towards the bathroom.

Rick lets the words hang in the air, mostly because there isn’t anything he can say to counter that. A promise is a comfort to a fool and only _fools_ make promises they cannot keep. He knew from day one things would crumble, from the moment he laid eyes on his fantastically fairy love he foreglimpsed the future.

Nonetheless that didn’t stop him from building this nirvana, crafting it with his own two hands and fashioning it, after all he was overzealous in his pursuit of Zion.

Now the ground shakes and the trees tremble because only a fool would build a Paradise on quicksand.

~

As it seems, the fountainous arbour in the Kingdom of Heaven have dried up.

There is nothing but desolation set before him as he drives to work that morning. In the back of his mind he knows he has to call Deanna and _beg_ her not to take Daryl from him. The thought alone is humiliating enough but he had to do something. It was a long shot at best, a needle in a haystack or a rhinestone among pebbles.

What choice did he have? There was the prospect of going back to his old life, returning to his wife and children like nothing ever happened. They would never know his transgressions or the maddening all-consuming love he has for a child. However, _he_ would know. 

The treachery would lodge in his thorax and swim like snakes in his organs until he tore down the heavens just to find Daryl again or confessed his sins to his family.

Rick parks in his usual spot, among the other cruisers and brings his coffee mug inside. The second he steps through the door Abe greets him riotously, slapping him hard on the back.

“Emergency meetin’ in the conference room. We got a break through with the case,” Abe grunts. “You’re gonna love this.”

Rick nods quickly, grabbing a few files from his desk to head to the briefing room.

“Listen up people,” Abe announces.

The room immediately quiets down as they get ready for what will essentially be the ride of their lives. Rick is enthused with excitement over the fact that they are so close to solving this case and after nearly six months those horrible men will be brought to justice.

“We’ve recently been swimming in a vast ocean of shit, now with all of our collaborative efforts we are able to swim through this vast ocean of shit and it’s all thanks to this fucker right here. Thankfully all those hard hours I put in will lead to a raise,” Abe shoots a pointed look at Rick. “So, on the premise that we never and I mean _ever_ go ass to mouth again let’s put these guys in jail.”

“Umm…thank you?” Rick says. “That was...well...frankly disgustin’, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same. What have ya’ll got?”

“IEP address on Dale’s computer. Turns out that sick fuck, has a subscription to the kiddie porn that the Claimers have been steaming live.” Glenn grins excitedly. “Shit Rick, it matches the same one the Claimers have been using.”

“What does that mean?” Tyreese demands. “Was he distributing it also or just viewing? Could it also be possible that he’s been workin’ with those guys?”

“It could mean nothing….” Glenn glances around. “Or it could mean everything.”

“How do we know?” Sasha chimes in. “He could be holding it for a friend? Or maybe he was going to report it? Was he getting weekly subscription notifications? We don’t know why he had those things on his computer.”

“Excellent,” Rick says. “I want those questions answered as soon as possible.”

“Unbelievable,” Shane mumbles from across the room, huddled in the shadows.

“I agree there could be a number of reasons.” Abe answers. “Right now none of them are makin’ Ed look any better.”

“Have we been able to bring in Lou or Len for questioning?” Rick asks.

“Not yet,” Abe says. “They’ve been dodging us but if we put out a warrant or 10-16 we should be able to pick them up easily.”

“I want this done by tomorrow,” Rick says sternly. “We don’t have time to waste.”

“Fuckin’ bullshit,” Shane mutters from the corner.

“What’s your problem man?” Rick demands hotly.

Silence settles upon the room as all heads turn towards Shane who finally steps into the light. The formerly black cascade of hair is cut narrowly short, buzzed down within an inch of its life.

Rick is suddenly stunned, his vision being assaulted by the _severity_ of Shane’s appearance. The man’s piercing dark eyes are colossal and goblin-like; a horrid half statue of granite and rock as he struts towards Rick.

There isn’t an ounce of Shane that he recognizes in the creature standing before him.

The abrupt change in Shane’s appearance is startling and it causes anger to tear across his optic nerve, making him vibrate patiently like a latent leopard in tall wheat grass.

“My problem...?” Shane challenges. “What the fuck is _my_ problem?”

“That’s what I fuckin’ asked.” Rick growls. This isn’t the time or the place for this shit, especially when they are so close to solving the entire case and Deanna breathing down his neck threatening to rip away the person he loves most in the whole entire world. Usually when Shane got like this Rick would be able to sit down and speak to him privately about what was going on.

Obviously it is far too late for that and the more Shane spews his snide comments, the more Rick wants to scratch out his throat and drink his blood. 

Shane kisses his teeth, staring him down with sharp cobra eyes.

“Nothin’.”

Rick glowers at him, gripping the folder in his hand tightly. “Let’s move on then, shall we?”’

“Except…” Shane interrupts again. His features have changed there is a fury directed at Rick that he’s never seen before.

It’s the most frightening face he’s ever seen because he knows _that_ face, he’s seen it countless times pointed at other people. It’s a look Shane has when he’s about to slaughter someone, about to tear them to shreds with his iron clad words.

“Maybe ya can explain this ‘cause I’m havin’ some trouble understandin’ here Rick.”

He doesn’t respond, barely blinks as he stares at Shane wondering where the fuck this baiting was going.

“No?” Shane taunts.

Rick pins him with an icy glacier glare.

“Okay, my turn then. What I don’t understand is why the _fuck_ Lori thinks ya are livin’ with Daryl outta the goodness of yer heart? Hell, why the fuck did ya let _me_ think that?”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! A big thanks to Lea_ysaye for editing this chapter.  
> *Shit will hit the fan next chapter:)
> 
> Thoughts?


	22. But I...

 

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

In theory, he dismantled the judicial system.

By shoving the auspicious parts through his mouth and ingesting them. Then when it began to curdle in his stomach, producing a foul acid he threw it back up. As it turns out, the taste of hypocrisy didn’t go down smoothly.

Therein lies the problem, he clearly bit off far more than he could chew and now he was regurgitating all over the office floor. Like some kind of a insane animal unable to hold it all in, through his extremities, the truth floods out.

So, he stands there in the middle of the office flushing hot in indignation, while his colleagues look on at the spectacle that has now become his life. He doesn't know where everything with Shane went so wrong, perhaps  it happened months ago, when his brother pleaded and begged that he open up to him and share whatever he was going though. It's far too late for that now, for redemption and whatnot. To a point he regrets not confiding in his best friend.

Hell, there are a lot things he regrets.

Now here he is, with his back up against the wall and he knows he'll have to fight his way out. “What the _fuck_ does it matter what I do in my spare time?” Rick barks at him.

“Yer spare time?” Shane goads. “Is that what we're callin’ it now?”

“Get to the point.”

“What the hell is goin’ on with you and that Dixon kid?”

 _Oh God_ —it’s all coming out now.

Rick looks at Shane and knows that he fucking _knows_. There is absolutely no way to get out of this, Shane will dig and dig until he’s ripped a hole through him. _Isn’t that point of this conversation anyway?_ Isn’t it meant to destroy him? Rick swallows nervously, his eyes darting about as he comes to the realization that after this Daryl will be taken away no matter what.

“I—I don’t know what you mean—”

“There it is,” Shane grins viciously as he points his finger directly at Rick. “Right _there._ That look, I ain’t seen that look since ya stole Grandma’s cookies and blamed it on the next door neighbour.”

The lies have overflowed.

“Shane—”

“Let me tell ya somethin’ man,” Shane spits. “I _knew_ from the beginnin’ there were massive holes all over your fuckin’ story ‘bout Joe chargin’ ya. The physics don’t make any sense, not to mention the direction of the shots fired or how the fuck ya shot him straight in the head!”

“We can talk about this in my office—”

“Oh yeah,” Shane laughs. “Let’s not forget the icin’ on this fuckin’ cake! We did a rape kit for Daryl and get this: none of Joe’s DNA was on the kid, but it was clear he had engaged in _recent_ sexual activity.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up.”

“So get this alright?” Shane continues. “Daryl mentions somethin’ ‘bout conductin’ business at the motel off Highway 95. So I checked it out. The owner was kind enough to let me see his bookin’s and I see only _one_ name down. Can ya’ll guess what that name was?”

“Why don’t ya just chill the fuck out?” Abraham jumps in. “What yer sayin’ is all speculative and I don’t think any of it is true. If you just let Rick explain, instead of runnin’ yer mouth, I’m sure he’ll clear everything up. It’s all some fucked up miscommunication.”

“Of course,” Glenn chimes in anxiously. “I mean...obviously he would have his reasons for keeping Daryl at the motel...I mean it’s not like the kid had anywhere else to go....”

“Damn straight,” Abe grunts. “Now, just tell Shane what really happened and let’s put this all to rest. This is all some misunderstanding, right Rick?”

Time slows down irrecoverably.

He can hear his heart thundering loudly in his chest and his eyes glaze over as he stares across the room to the people who love him and respect him, watching as it all seamlessly melts away.

The silence stretches on far too long to go unnoticed. It's a deafening admission that rings louder than any bells in the Cathedral. Abraham stands up slowly from his position on the table, his massive chest moving up and down as his face morphs into pure rage. Glenn looks equally disgruntled and shocked, edging closer like he’s straining to hear his denial, like he’s waiting for Rick to say that this was all a mix-up and he is innocent.

Only he doesn’t.

Rick stands there trembling because there is nothing to deny, it’s all so fucking true.

Tyreese and Sasha have matching looks of suspicion and betrayal; they stare at him like they are just seeing him for the first time and something atrocious twists in his gut.

At this point he his beyond humiliated and so fucking ashamed, he breathes harshly through his nose, nearly panting as Shane exposes him as the creature he really is—the _demon_.

“I knew it,” Shane pounces. “I knew it the whole time.”

“Now hold on just one minute—” Sasha tries to interrupt.

“Wake the fuck up,” Shane snaps. “Can’t ya’ll see what this really is? What’s been goin’ on the whole fuckin’ time? How do we know what else he isn’t hiding? Huh? Maybe he’s been working with Joe’s men. Not to mention Daryl’s testimonial,” Shane rants. “The kid damn near implied that ya fuckin’ killed Joe in a jealous rage and offered ta do the rape test! At first, I didn’t wanna believe it, but I’ve seen the way ya look at him and it ain’t right!”

_Daryl did what?_

No, that didn’t make any sense. Why would Daryl _offer_ to do the rape test? There is no way he would do that on his own unless Shane forced him into it. The memories bleed and blend together until everything becomes bloated and boggy.  Rick can distill the many ways he expressed his undying devotion to Daryl. Those silly and shameless professions of everlasting admiration, conditional and unconditional, saturated with heart rendering affection.

And all he would get in return was a strange vacant reply. 

Those days upon days worshiping Daryl, lavishing his snub nose with sloppy kisses and lapping at sodden flesh. Only for the kid to appear strangely curious; as if this wasn’t actually happening to him but to someone else.

Then those slight inquiries about Shane, which Rick didn’t bother investigating because he assumed that there was no connection. Why would there be? He had no reason to believe Daryl would offer to do a rape test.

Daryl’s cat eyes haunting his footsteps, deep enfolding emeralds gazed like laser beams into his skull, while he quietly and almost flippantly asked about Shane. Even this morning, as they lied in bed after copious amounts of intercourse, Rick had been despondent and Daryl had asked if Shane was the _cause_. 

The comprehension hits him like a fucking freight train and he feels his eyes sting with treachery. 

There were times, when he would hold Daryl in his arms, after generous lovemaking sessions. Daryl’s skin would glisten in the pale moonlight. Rick recalls being adorned with an inflammation of tenderness and desire for his beautiful pubescent boy. He refers to this time as icebergs in quicksand or shards of glass among minerals.

Rick would moan against the kid’s cheek, press himself into his bosom and soak up his scent. Almost as if asking permission, almost as if begging to be absolved for all of his sins and only Daryl could give him that blessing. Benevolence abruptly deepens into shame and despair, as he held Daryl. Then the hunger would swell before it took over, the cycle would continue and all at once he would need to be inside Daryl again.

And Daryl would stare at him, impassively before turning onto his stomach, waiting for Rick to penetrate him once more, almost like he expected it.

It’s as if Daryl somehow knew something had possessed him.

 _Christ_ —in his eyes Daryl is his gem, his rhinestones and glittering jewels, the heavens, the earth, the sky, his heart, his lungs, his chest, his breast— _the light of his life_.

And Daryl would stare back with neutral illumination.

Within this moment Rick knows that Daryl went from one monster to another.

Rick nearly vomits, he clutches his chest and his heart threatens to burst free because— _dear God_ , he would do anything for this not to be true.

“Please stop.” He utters feebly.

Shane is pacing now, like a rabid lion whose cornered his prey. “It’s all fuckin’ true, isn’t it? I knew it. Lori and I had our suspicions. She didn’t want to admit it but I knew from the moment I saw ya after Joe that things have changed.”

There is nothing to say in his defense. Nothing to quell the growing apprehension everyone feels in that moment. “At the time I said to myself that this has gotta be some joke.” Shane continues. “Some _sick_ fuckin’ joke ‘cause Rick Grimes ain’t no fag. I’ve been his best friend for nearly thirty years and I would know. He ain’t a fag. He just ain’t.” Shane fumes.

Rick opens his mouth, then promptly closely it.

Then he turns sharply and walks calmly right out of the room.

~

“This can’t be true brother,” Shane thunders behind him. “We’ve been best friends our whole lives! I would have known if you were a flouncing, limp-wrist faggot and ya ain’t!”

There is no use lying anymore. Rick feels tears throb behind his eyes as he walks disgracefully through his office with everyone scrutinizing them.

“No,” Rick shakes his head but doesn’t stop walking. “It’s true.”

Shane grabs his shirt roughly turning him around. “It ain’t fuckin’ true! It can’t be! Because if it were true, then why didn’t ya tell me? Yer best friend!”

“I’m sorry, brother,” Rick implores, tears finally escaping his eyes and trailing down his cheek. “I wanted to...So many times but I just couldn’t.”

 “What the fuck do ya mean ya couldn’t?!” Shane is screaming now, the entire office is observing them. “You’ve been carrying on a relationship for nearly six months with Daryl Dixon and ya couldn’t say jack shit?”

“I’m sorry.”

Shane shakes him hard. “He’s a damn kid!”

“I know, but I _love_ him.”

For a moment Rick can see fury, mixed with complete disgust cloud over Shane’s features. Before he can react Shane shoves him violently, nearly knocking him off balance.

“You’re _sick_.”

They are both panting wildly, staring at each other. Shane looks like he’s never seen him before, in a way it’s completely true. They are strangers now.

“If—If I could take it all back…do thangs differently I would, believe me, brother...but I don’t have any sexual feelings towards Lori and I don’t think I ever did.”

“Oh my God,” Shane whispers. “You’re worse than Joe! At least with him we knew what we were dealin’ with. Some sick fuck who enjoyed screwing children and had absolutely no remorse. We all knew what he was but _you_...” Shane sneers in repulsion. “You’re nothin’ but a Goddamn chicken feathered hound! All those years you were just pretendin’ to be somethin’ that ya ain’t. At least Joe lured Daryl in with the promise of money, but you lured Daryl in with the promise of love. That’s so much fuckin’ worse! Can’t ya see what you’ve done?!”

Rick weeps openly now, drunk on the impossible past and knowing that there is no use hiding it, because from this moment on he's lost Daryl forever.

Everything Shane says is true, Rick _has_ deprived Daryl of having a normal life much like Joe did. They were undoubtedly the same, the parallels between them so striking and alarming that Rick was almost looking into the mirror.

Driven by hedonism and selfishness, he took this beautiful boy, knowing that he had nowhere else to go and no-one else to turn to and corrupted him with his depravity and lust. He captured Daryl, fucked him raw and then watched as the kid became solely dependent on him for love and affection.

It doesn’t matter that he meant for things to turn out differently, it doesn’t matter that he had good intentions; all that matters is what is. 

Their time together was nothing but a momentary reprieve, phantom peace in a paradise build on quicksand. All he has left is smothered memories, now unfolding themselves into red-eyed calculated demons.

“I _love_ him,” Rick says his voice gathering strength. “And I won’t apologize for that.”

Shane charged, tackling Rick and sending them both tumbling over the nearest desk.

They hit the ground hard, papers flying everywhere as Rick tries to catch his breath. Shane was on him, fast and furious his hand curling into an iron fist and swinging at his face wildly.

The first several hits stun him, the impact leaving him momentarily delirious in pain, however, he moves quickly, throwing his forearms up like an offensive lineman blocking the defensive back.

Shane darts to the ribcage, landing a crippling blow that knocks the wind out of him. Rick grunts, twisting expertly smashing his elbow into the side of Shane’s skull. The hit makes Shane recoil sharply and Rick takes advantage of the opening by landing a solid punch to his stomach. Rick knows that in regards to power and muscular strength Shane has him beat, but he’s agile and fast so he uses that to his leverage.

They are two large cats fighting for survival. Shane is obviously a lion, with his large upper body, brute strength and muscular disposition he blunders through violently scratching and tearing at any available skin.

Rick moves more like a leopard, swift and speedy, he can bend and coil, landing punches and hits in places that leave his opponent nearly disabled.

Many years ago they would fight, not like this— _never like this_. When they were teenagers brimming with testosterone and bursting with hormones they would wrestle, each trying to get the upper hand and laughing carelessly while doing it. There was no underlining pretext, just boys exploring their strengths and capabilities.

Shane is his best friend.

So, Rick in all honesty doesn’t actually want to hurt him but he will defend himself if need be.  It becomes crystal clear that Shane doesn’t share his concern and is mindlessly trying to tear him apart. Shane’s left fist comes flying towards his face and he doesn't notice until it’s too late to block the punch. He can hear the sickening crunch sounds as his nose cracks and splinters and blistering pain erupts all over his face. For a moment he chokes on blood as Shane roars on top of him punching and wailing like a monster.

They’ve been fighting their whole lives, since they were children. However, this was something else, something much more sinister, because it was almost as if Shane was _trying_ to kill him.

He absorbs the trauma, swallowing the pain, then when the right moment rose he kicks himself back up to the surface by grappling, his movements are strategic with an equal measure of fury as he threw his legs up, crossing them over Shane’s neck and flipping their position. Shane is locked, visibly struggling to get out of the reversal grappling move, with Rick now towering on top of him.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Deanna’s voice shrills.

Several officers tear him off Shane as he continues throwing punches in every direction. They restrain both of them, six men on Shane as he fights them all viciously, but only one person holding Rick.

Shane is far more animal than human now, growling and fighting riotously. The six men holding Shane off aren’t doing a very good job, because suddenly he is close; very close, close enough to _spit_ on him.

That makes Rick see red and he’s charging forward all over again.

“Goddamit Rick,” Deanna bellows. “I said stop!”

Despite the fact that his ears are ringing; adrenaline is still pumping rapidly through his entire body as he glares at Shane. They are both a fucking mess, clothes ripped and torn, hanging like shreds off their bodies. Shane’s left eye is bleeding fiercely, not to mention the lacerations all over his swelling jaw line.

It’s those eyes, a malformed incubus or other worldly creature that will haunt Rick forever.

Rick takes a deep breath, it fucking hurt his ribcage but he keeps inhaling and exhaling loudly. He stares at everyone around him, watching their faces and knowing that at anytime they could have stopped the fight.

His head swims and his stomach tightens; he almost throws up again but manages just barely to keep the bile down. There was still something dark inside him telling him to move; strike and kill this bastard.  And he almost does, almost takes Shane back to hell with him.

The demon isn’t satisfied yet.

His knuckles are busted wide open; he can feel globs of blood trickling down the front of his tatter police uniform. At some point Rick thinks back on how fitting the turn of events are, how marvelously simplistic and ironic as he becomes the enemy.

Rick admitted to being in love with a teenager.

For nearly a year they have been hunting vile men, disgusting men who took children and did abdominal things to them. Most of these officers would have given their lives to keep their community safe from those men. They pledged their souls, with honour and dignity to protect and serve the people in Byromville Georgia.  From savage creatures like Ed and Joe who were like vermin or all those animals that crawl on their bellies.

And Rick just confessed, out loud that he was _one of them_.

They take Shane away, draging him off towards one of the offices and finally release him. Deanna stands there staring at him; the wrinkles look deeper as they match the dissatisfaction in her eyes.

Upon close scrutiny, it’s clear she regrets ever listening to him in the beginning.

Rick knows what this looks like; the blood soaking his shirt, the agonizing pain blinding his vision and making him see double and the slightly derange look on his face now. There is no victory here, no celebratory glances or pandering praise.

Instead, there is infinite ear shattering stillness, and the calm cool realization that the whole office heard what Shane was accusing him of. And if Deanna hadn’t come, if she didn’t stop this fight, his fellow colleagues would have let Shane _beat_ him to death.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ducks behind a chair*
> 
> A big thanks to Lea_ysaye and Iloveyousunshine for editing this chapter!
> 
> Thoughts?


	23. So, As One We Survive.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

“Do you mind telling me what the _fuck_ just happened?” Deanna barks, pacing the confined office space.

And so, the pestering prominent present turns out to be a pretentious black wilderness.

A world that seems muddier and muggier, where he can’t even see what is in front of him anymore. Rick finds that he is wading through bleak emotions of despair. There isn’t anything to do but sit and listen, as his world collapses around him.

This dying day would be the first of many, filled with dark hopelessness and vast nothingness that makes him coil and quiver. Rick fully understands what happens next, the madness that is about to ensue once they get another social worker to come into the office.

It’ll be so clinical, so methodical and Daryl will be whisked away, almost like he never existed here at all. Rick has no fight left in him, so he slumps breathing heavily in his seat, fully cognisant of the agonizing pain erupting across his misshapen nose and the blood coagulated on his skin and uniform.  

The pounding in his head has stretched throughout his entire body, he can barely sit still without feeling the sting of Shane’s fist against his swollen cheek or the piercing ache of his broken ribcage.

“ _Goddamn you_ ,” Deanna hisses, her face twisting in fury. “Goddamn this place. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? If this gets out...if anyone breathes a word of this we are all finished!”

Rick nods a little dazed.

“Give me your badge,” Deanna grunts. “Come on you’re making me do this. Give me your fucking badge Rick!”

He moves like a tortoise, slow and uncoordinated because his fist isn’t clenching right and he keeps seeing everything in doubles. Soon he manages weakly to slide the badge onto the desk table, where Deanna snatches it quickly. He’s worn that badge for nearly fifteen years, never once taken it off when he was on duty, now things have changed.

That night he lay with Daryl, with the galaxies simmering, the stardust reflecting in their eyes and the drunken cry of gratitude as he ascended into the heavens, he unknowingly sealed their fates.

If Rick had known that ultimately, spreading Daryl wide and fucking his insides would leave them both wanton and shattered he _might have_ done things differently. Might have, but probably wouldn’t have, because in his eyes there are no mistakes.

Just horrible consequences.

Now they are waiting for the forensic analysis to confirm what he already knows, what Shane failed to disclose in his monstrous rant.

“So, it’s all true then?” Deanna asks finally, her face like thunder.

“Yes.”

“God help you.”

The door suddenly opens, in walks two woman wearing lab coats followed closely by a sleazy lawyer they had on retainer named Martin Coy. One woman he recognizes as a Dr. Denise Richards, she has a Masters in psychology and seems to walk neurotically around the office. The second woman he doesn’t know, but by her name tag which reads: Dr. Francine Legault he can guess she is from forensics.

“The results were conclusive,” Dr. Francine blunders in with a folder in her hand. “On July the 23rdOfficer Walsh voluntarily brought Daryl Dixon into the office, thereby he was seen by a medical examiner Dr. Tory, who took notes and did the documentation for when the rape kit was done. None of Joe’s DNA was on Daryl but recent sexual activity was evident...” Dr. Francine turns glare at him. “The semen DNA is a direct match with Officer Grimes.” 

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Deanna sighs, then turns to Martin Coy. “Okay, what are our options?”

“Has officer Grimes,” Martin sneers his last name. “Officially filed to be Daryl’s guardian yet?”

“We were still going through the paperwork. It’s been rigorous so far, but if you are asking if we’ve had a judge look over the documentation and sign off on it then no. This process is oftentimes very extensive, with the amount of cross references checks, background checks, financial information etc...” Deanna explains.

“Good,” Martin says. “That will work in our favour. You will claim plausible deniability; you will deny knowledge and responsibility for any damnable actions because there is no evidence you knew about this arrangement at all.”

“What about the cross-examination?” Deanna demands. “The prosecution is going to want to know why I entrusted a minor to an Officer instead of into the care of the State of Georgia.”

“Well no shit Sherlock,” Martin quips. “However, this isn’t your jurisdiction. Police Commissioner Grimes asked you to help out in this situation. All you have to do is say that you were helping him out and your recommendation was that Mr. Dixon, reside with Herschel Greene, but beyond that you didn’t know the specifics. Now how is the kid’s mental health?”

“Right,” Dr. Denise fumbles awkwardly with her paperwork. “It—it is my understanding that Mr. Dixon suffers from RTS, which for those of you who don’t know stands for Rape Trauma Syndrome. When I was conducting my psychological analyzes with him I noticed that he exhibited nearly all of the common side effects.”

“How so?” Deanna demands. “The prosecution will have a fucking field day with this! And with all the rape shield laws in affect we are certainly fucked! There is no way our defence can get through this.”

“Well, for starters given his background and being forced into prostitution at a young age I’ve observed him and it’s become crystal clear that he afflicted with acute controlled psychological trauma, during the interview he was hyper-sexualized, often times making overtly suggestive comments or refusing to answer direct questions...Throughout my research, I’ve also noticed he has minor twitches. The most prevalent is his aversion to unwanted touches. Mr. Dixon would flinch or react violently, certainly a common trait for those who have post-traumatic stress. He’s aggressive, angry and his level of education is very questionable indeed but...”’Denise hesitates.

“Spit it out Princess we don’t have all day,” Martin mumbles.

“W-What I also found alarming is his disassociation....” Dr. Denise pauses pensively. “When we spoke about some of his...er... _clients_...Mr. Dixon would describe the events as if they were an out of body experience....almost as if he was on the outside looking in...Like it wasn’t really happening to him, per say.”

Rick eyes well up and the tears fall freely.

This information isn’t anything _new_ , he’s known for a long time Daryl has suffered massively from the trauma he went through as a child. But to hear everything listed, to know that Daryl is riddled with so much turmoil kills him inside.

Rick knows he’s made everything ten times worse. That he is the detrimental cause and absolutely no part of the solution to Daryl’s health and well-being.

He gags, half-throttled, feeling acid curl on his tongue. This isn't how things were ever supppsed to be. He lived in a dream, some basterized reality thinking things will turn out right, thinking Daryl will remain forever his. 

Shane exposed the truth, yet to some degree he was glad. Rick knew that at any given chance he would shout his undying feelings to the heavens.

Mad with tenderness Rick recognizes that he wanted to get caught, that the auspicious journey that brought Daryl into his arm, nestling in his bed was well worth it.

Mine, Daryl was all mine.

Back then he would never give Daryl up, never. Not even if his pubescent siren withers, his eyes fading to myopic fish, his lips swell and crack, and his lovely delicate auburn hair, alabaster skin tainted and torn.

Now they are nothing, and all he has are phantoms of the life he had before. Their love will shrivel, with each passing day, Daryl's mind is young and fleeting, their memories will be taken with the wind. 

Deanna will take Daryl away, far away. Where the foul lust Rick inflicted on Daryl cannot touch him. 

Despite knowing all of that, Rick _loves_ him still.

Out of the blue there is a noise, it pierces his eardrums and rattles his teeth. The sound is like something is dying, like an animal wailing its head off. Several moments pass by before Rick realizes he is making that sound, snot and tears drizzle down his face as he openly weeps.

Suddenly Deanna is in front of his face, grasping his battered hand tightly. “Shhhh, try to calm down.”

Rick is hyperventilating, feeling like his lungs are going to cave in. “ _Fuck_ , I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Yes, he was pretty blind not to see how everyone else will be affected by this. Not just his family, but the people who worked in the Prescient, all their lives altered by his selfishness. Finally it occurs to him that Deanna could lose her job, as well as her position in her own community, not to mention this one.

“You did a horrible, horrible thing,” Deanna responds icily. “But right now you need to relax....we should probably get you to the hospital—”

All at once things become crystal clear. The only way out of this mess is _through_ it. Rick can see Lori's face, aghast and lament, not to mention Carl, who will bury his rage so deep it'll consume him. 

Rick cannot stop them from knowing the truth, but he can help right some wrongs.

“Bring Daryl in,” Rick says frantically.

“Are you out of your mind?” Martin spits. “Clearly he’s fucking delirious—”

“Bring him here,” Rick interrupts, his voice trembling. “He’ll correspond with all your stories that will help you claim plausible deniability. He-he’ll say he consented to my advances....let him tell you....we—we don’t have to burn for this. Daryl will back me up, but we have to do it soon.”

“As your lawyer I have to strongly advice against this,” Martin seethes. “Not only are you trying to cover your tracks but you are using a mentally ill minor to do it—”

“Deanna, _please_!”

Desperation makes his voice break as he pleads with Deanna to listen to him. There isn’t time to waste, they can’t keep going back and forth on this. Rick knows Daryl will side with him. They were all perplexed as to why he wants his cruel mistress at the Prescient, besides it's not like having Daryl here would do anything besides fuel the flames of what had happened.

Nonetheless, he knew Daryl would lie for him.

He was willing to _bet_ his life on it and the lives of everyone he got involved in this situation. Sure it was wrong, deceitful but he couldn’t let anyone suffer for his mistakes. Rick is beyond all else reliable and it was his responsibility to rectify this situation.  The shrill in his voice must have made her pause, because she regards him closely before sighing deeply.

“Alright,” Deanna breathes. “Alright, we will bring Daryl in.”

“You can’t be serious,” Martin snaps.

“You and Denise will speak to him,” Deanna goes on. “I don’t want anyone else in the room. We won’t arrest him, we won’t intimate him....we’ll record the conversation....if he did indeed consent then we will be in the clear...”

“What part of RTS did you not understand? The prosecution will argue that even if Daryl did consent he doesn’t have the _mental capacity_ toconsent! His consent is a system of his illness! Jesus, am I speaking Chinese here or what?”

“He’s the age of consent in Georgia and that is all that matters. All we need to know is if Daryl will testify for or against Rick if this ever goes to trail.”

“Fine,” Martin relents. “But if this goes to hell then it’s your ass that is going to burn not mine let’s go,” He grunts at Denise.

~

Several hours of interrogating his uncouth and contemptuous lover, they finally come back into the room.

Rick is beside himself, pacing the floors awkwardly with his gaunt, his ribs are stinging and his head is swimming but all he can think about is Daryl. The second the door opens he can tell things went exactly as planned. Deanna looks significantly lighter, her mouth is no longer drawn into a hard line.

“Alright, that was promising,” Deanna concludes.

“I’ll say,” Martin says. “So, now that Daryl has vouched for Mr. Grimes then what?”

“We proceed as originally planned.”

Rick doesn’t allow himself to feel elation because he knows what’s coming next. He feels so incredibly stupid for not figuring it out before. Why else would Deanna want to share some wonderful news about the case? Why else would she leave a voice message on his answering machine? His mind becomes a squid-cloud of confusion, weighting foggy and restless over him.

 _Oh God_ —he’s fallen into a net, one that merrily walked into. Now his sweet-precious jem-stone will be taken away, the oppressive reality shreds his heart apart. Rick doesn’t cry anymore, he stares off into space, relaying the last few moments of his life with Daryl.

Those striking eyes, arctic mountain tops crest with emeralds, the memories are distressful and he bites his tongue to stop from screaming in agony. Where will Daryl go? What will his beloved do? He holds back the panic threatening to overtake him, instead he stuffs it _down down down_  until he can scarcely breathe. Perhaps, he knew all along but didn’t want to acknowledge it, reliable Rick finds himself immediately distraught.

“Which is....?” Martin probes.

“Releasing Mr. Dixon back into the care of his older brother Merle,” Deanna responds steadily, turning towards Rick. “That’s what I was calling you about several days ago. We found him, up North somewhere but he’s agreed to come down and take Daryl with him. Hopefully he will be here in a few days and then we can put this entire thing to rest.”

“Of course,” Martin nods. “Well, I don’t know about you guys but I need a drink. This place isn’t good for my health. Alright Deanna, I’ll bill you for my services. Good day.”

The door slams behind Martin the sound itself has a resounding finality to it.

Deanna fiddles with one of the pencils on his desk, her face more calculating and more serene then he’s ever seen before. Unfortunately he knows exactly what is coming next, how she will say the words that will stab his soul and tear at his insides. He has no defence for his actions, he took advantage of a young boy—a beautiful crafty, brutish child, whose reveal innocence drove him to madness.

He can’t nor won’t say that, which in the grand scheme of things makes no difference.

Paralysis tingles down his spine, blossoming through his entire body and making him curse the day he ever laid eyes on Daryl. _Christ_ —if he hadn’t seen Daryl or witness his profound features he would still be living his lacklustre life.  That life left him constantly torn inevitably between the mundane, and fantasising fantastically about being something more. This feeling is fleeting, because he tasted cotton candy lips, made love with Adonis and bathed in sin and depravity.

And _fuck_ did he love every minute of it. No, he doesn’t wish to go back, reverse time and whatnot. He knows this is the end, but he _lived_ , in the past six months he finally lived and it was worth everything.

Rick stands, his eyes skimming the office he’s spent nearly fifteen years in, the blood sweat and tears that went into him finally becoming Police Commissioner of Byromville. Not to mention the long hours, sleepless nights, various criminals he sent to prison, the nightmares— _fuck_ his entire life went into this job.

He doesn’t need Deanna to confirm what he already knows.

“I arranged for a car to take you to the hospital,” Deanna says coolly. “I’d imagine they would want to check out your injuries....”

Rick turns his head, clenches his jaw tightly.

There isn’t anything else for him to say, he knows that. His career as a police officer is finished, all because he wanted to stuff pretty pink holes with his cock. Grief hits him, low and fast, stunting his breath and making regret simmer in his core. _Jesus_ —he gave his life for this town, for this place and now he’s nothing—nobody, worst an outsider soon to be hunted.

Deanna has a box prepared, placing most of his belongings in them: pictures of Lori, Carl and Judith, a few tokens, certificate of graduation from the Police Academy, Bachelor of Criminology, artistic photographs, various gift cards and well-wishes from friends. She packs all of those things and hands them to him.

Rick allows her to do that, allows her to pack away fifteen years of his life in this little box. He holds it with his busted knuckles, wincing when the sharp edges come in contact with his abdomen.

The silence between them is enough to quill any doubt about this situation. Deanna stares at him, impatiently almost, like she wishes to be rid of him as soon as possible. “Good luck,” She says, it’s an Olive branch, small and decaying.

“Yeah...” He mumbles weak and pitiful turning to walk out of the room, presumably out of the station for the rest of his life.

“Oh and Rick,”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t come back here ever again.”

~

Rick felt like a spangled acrobat staggering on a tight-line rope.

Gripping his belongings he walks with a pronounced gaunt through the halls of the Prescient with each eye on him. Shane has thoroughly succeeded in embellishing him and thrashing his anguish in whatever diabolical scheme he had concocted.

He wants to fucking _scream_ so loud it shatters the walls and pierces the glass. Yet, there isn’t anyone to blame except himself. Rick candidly took a bite of forbidden sodden fruit, deliciously devouring it without thinking about the consequences.

These people he’s known most of his life, they all regard him with stiff indifference. So he walks, or limps, with blood on his cloths, pain rippling through his entire body towards the main entrance.

The minute he gets there his heart stops, he nearly falls to his knees with fucking _relief_.

Daryl is sitting in one of the waiting chairs, gnawing on his finger nails. After the integration Rick assumed that they took him away or that Deanna planned to keep them apart. Instead he is _here_ , fidgeting and anxious, gorgeous eyes darting about.

Reliable Rick is stunned silent, stopping dead in his tracks. He staggers awkward towards the kid, nearly dropping the rest of his belongings on the ground. Daryl spots him immediately jumping up from his chair and rushing towards him.

They embrace quickly, the kid burying his face in Rick’s neck. Something like hope blossoms in his chest, spreading warm liquid through his body and the tears escape his eyes as he cradles Daryl’s head, pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

The hug is _tight_ , too tight and one of them is shaking.

People are watching, Glenn is openly gaping as well as Abraham and the rest of his team, but Rick finds that he doesn’t care. Daryl helps him carry his belongings, throwing an intense glare of hatred over his shoulder.

This day dies, thankfully, tomorrow lives.

_Damn them, damn them all._

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) 
> 
> Thanks to Iloveyousunshine for editing this chapter! 
> 
>  
> 
> Thoughts?


	24. Shine on Forever.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_

Comfortably robbed of his dignity, Rick concludes that tragedy thrills him.

Perhaps that was the lesson all along, not destruction or decay of his carefully structured life, but basking in the magnitude of the calamity he created.

Rick winces when Bob starts stitching up his knuckles, the pain turning into a sharp stinging ache, waning from the throb it was previously. He barely blinks when Bob begins setting back his misshapen nose, the fracture cartilage being forced back into place.

The resounding crack seems to signify something much more than setting the nose right. Rick knows it will never heal properly, he might be cursed with a pronounced curve at the bridge.

Much like his best friend Shane.

He closes his eyes as his thoughts became saturated with Shane’s deranged face, contorted into a savage beast, slamming his fist into his face, bone busting bone, skin tearing open, blood splattering everywhere.

Rick recalls this vividly, resisting the urge to curl his battered hands into a fist.

 _Christ_ —what has he done? He’s ruined them. Not just his friendship, his family will soon know of his transgressions. Rick swallows thickly, grasping the hand in his lap firmly.

Daryl observes him closely, his hand squeezing back solidly. That’s all he needs to stop him from crumbling again, he draws strength from Daryl, relishing in the soothing touch.

Bob doesn’t comment on them holding hands, or the light feathered kisses Daryl leaves all over his temple. The doctor barely blinks when Rick leans over to Daryl and breathes _I love you_.

It’s clear that Bob’s keen eyes miss nothing, they singed his skin with judgment and scrutiny but Rick is past the point of caring. They finish several hours later, Bob says nothing and gathers his belongings and swiftly leaves the room.

The stiff air Bob leaves behind seems to stay with Rick even as he leaves the building. The walk to his car seems endless, with Daryl holding him mostly upright as he practically limps there. His ribs are pounding relentlessly in pain, while the rest of him is barely functioning through all the hurt and bruising.

When he gets into the passenger's seat, he isn’t at all surprised to see wires hanging out from under the steering wheel. Rick stifles a laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s going to cost him a shit ton of money to have that replaced and he is currently unemployed.

Not that he can blame Daryl entirely, the kid can’t legally drive and they didn’t have any options when they we leaving the Prescient. Rick was bleeding pretty badly and there was no way in hell that he was accepting Deanna’s offer for a ride to the hospital.

Daryl gives him a half assed shrug and pulls out of the parking lot.

As a sort of compromise Rick doesn’t comment on the fact that Daryl shouldn’t be driving, or that his car is practically dismantled, instead he stares out the window, knowing that part of his life is over.

Rules, regulations, judicial hierarchies and whatnot no longer apply to him. Now he is just a regular civilian, a worthless liar. A part of him should have been relieved, instead he felt immense remorse, splintering his insides.

He leans his forehead against the window, in his heart moaning the mourning of droves in the sky.

~

So, he made a big mistake.

Not Daryl, never Daryl who sits in his marble arms weeping. The way things turned out of course, Rick regrets that eternally. However, he can’t do anything about it, so many times he wished he could reverse time.

Those thoughts are futile and senseless, they are stuck in the present forcing each moment into the future. They have less than 48 hours remaining together before Merle comes to take Daryl.

“We should run away,” Rick decides then and there. The pain in his chest is making it hard for him to even breathe. “I’ll get the car and we can just go. I reckon we can travel further south, I’ve got family in Texas.”

Daryl is silent, stroking his arm.

He has money saved up for emergencies, Carl’s trust fund and other savings. Lori will understand, maybe not right away but in the future she will know why it was necessary.

 _How far is he willing to go?_ The question comes to him abruptly, while he is soaking in Daryl’s essence. What depths of calculating carnality would he stoop to? Leaving behind his children Carl and Judith to grow up without him? For what?

Rick is talking nonsense, they both know it.

“He’s my brother.” Daryl says quietly.

“I know,” Rick says.

They are in the master bedroom, their limbs intertwined for the last time. Rick doesn’t want this to end or to go back to life he had before.

“We could...I’ll fight for custody...we’ll figure somethin’.....I won’t give up….”

Something about the way Daryl hugs him tighter, or his lack of response makes something much worse twist in his stomach. _Maybe it is truly over?_ He just needs to accept it. Things were always going to end, but it was too soon, too fast he wasn’t ready.

Of all the things he remembers, the first and most prominent is their time at the Lagoon. The look of pure freedom, Daryl’s wide striking vinely ivory teeth, his glistening body caught in the sunlight.  

They were free.

Rick knows that summer is moving on, two months left and then there’s fall. Just as well, he’s reaching for something that’s already gone.

“Daryl,” Rick is frantic now. “Can you….we...you can forgive me right? For...everything…” The tears are blinding his vision but he presses onwards.

How can he bare it? The tender fairy which is his lover, so soft and frail. Daryl’s features exude radiance and transcend above all else. Rick’s heart may very well burst with the magnitude of emotions.

“I should be askin’ ya….for forgiveness…” Daryl answers.

“No never,” Rick says with conviction. “It’s me….I’m the monster. I wanted to save you and ended up pollutin’ you. _God_ —I’m so sorry.”

Then Daryl perches himself on his elbows. “Listen please, Shane knew about us before. He said that I needed to do the test and if I didn't he would—”

Shane? What does he have to do with this? Rick wants to tell Daryl to shut up, he doesn’t want to know what went on between them. Of course he doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to see it. Whatever dark, twisted things that conspired between them, lusty eyes, malevolent grins and Shane's madness that seems far more like blind jealousy than anything else.

Shane's rapid-fire stories of grimy alleyways, _whores in moonlight_ , he called them. 

He has some idea what happened, but these last hours will _not_ be soiled by the mention of that bastard’s name.

Maybe in the future he’ll find out why Daryl did the rape test, why he felt the need to conceal his actions, but Rick has already forgiven him.

He’s decided here and now there is nothing Daryl could do that he couldn’t forgive.

“You have your reasons,” Rick interrupts promptly. “He coerced you into it. You did what you thought was necessary. That’s all I need to know.”

“Yes, but ya don't understand—”

“I don't need to. I believe you and whatever happened doesn't matter anymore.”

Daryl doesn’t argue, his face is pale and eyes rimmed with tears from earlier. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

“I love you too,” Rick smiles, cupping his cheek and then closes the distance between them.

Their lips touched, apple-sweet and demure at first, he knew that Daryl was being especially careful of his split lip and broken nose. Then with perfect simplicity the imprudent kid extend his legs out.

Those fine calfs left tantalizing on display, although they couldn’t make love that didn’t stop Rick from ravishing him in his mind.

“You won’t forget me right?”

“Never,” Daryl breathes. “Ya saved my life.”

 _Has it all gone to waste?_ All the promises that they made? One by one they seem to vanish just the same. Reflecting now on how things could have been, it was worth it in the end.  

“You saved mine.”

Rick is breathing so he guesses he is still alive. Even if the signs seem to him otherwise.

~

They’re both devoid of hate.

Years ago Rick would have believed that his wife wouldn’t have had the capacity _to_ hate. Now though he knows how wrong he can be. The decision to visit Lori comes hastily as he is helping Daryl pack his meager belongings away.

They still have another day until Merle is scheduled to pick up Daryl. So, he decides quite suddenly that he has to visit his wife and break the news to her before the media does.

On the way there Rick wrestles with himself, stopping several times at the side of the road to calm his racing heart. He knows he looks like shit, lip busted, the side of his face is inked purple and fuchsia.

 _Christ_ —there is even gaze wrapped around his knuckles and above his nose. He has no fucking clue what he’s going to say to Lori once he sees her, the lies he told are now unfolding and what is underneath has destroyed them all.

Rick is privy to all of this, yet he must stand firm.

When the house finally comes into view, he feels his stomach constrict and his wounds palpate even more. Summer breeze that caressed the nape of his neck, the familiar crunch of his cowboy boots hitting the asphalt.

It’s been awhile since he’s been back here, the house looks vastly different. Rick doesn’t hold his head up, he walks with a pronounced gaunt to the steps of his own house, tempted to ring the doorbell.

Even though he owns it.

Nevertheless, he’s fucked up badly and so he rings the doorbell. There is silence a few moments and then shuffling as the door swings open. Lori stands in front of him, her face hard riddled with new wrinkles.

She doesn’t say anything, instead pivots sharply leaving the door open for him to enter.

Rick walks in, feeling like he steps inside an alien world. For starters the place is still a mess, all of Judith’s toys are thrown carelessly on the floor. There is no sign of Carl, but he assumes his son is still at school.

He doesn’t comment on the mess, just follows his wife up the familiar steps and inside the bedroom. Lori stops besides her vanity table, her back towards him as she fixes the makeup powder she spilled.

It’s then he notices that she answered the door in nothing but a sheer silk pink nightdress. Rick clears his throat, feeling like he should say something.

“Lori…I’m here because….there somethin’ I need to tell you...”

She continues to apply her makeup, her moves are firm and tense, unnecessarily a tad too dramatic for something as simplistic as this. Her aggravation is apparent, although her figure is willowy.

“I already know.”

Rick resists the urge to exhale, he feels slightly relieved she already knows. Shane must have gotten to her before he had the chance. That makes sense, considering how things went down between them.

Now that it’s out in the open then, maybe they can start moving past this. The divorce can be amicable, he can visit his children on the weekends and that will be the end of this nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” Rick says. “That ya had to find out that way….I should have told ya….I think we can work somethin’ out regarding custody….”

Lori throws her head back and laughs.

The sound is strange, some mix between hysteria and malice. Rick nods calmly, starting to realize this might be harder than he thought.

“ _Custody_?” Lori spits the word back and grins at him through the mirror, her beautiful face contorting into slow rage. “No, you most definitely will _not_ be getting custody.”

“This isn’t goin’ to be good for the kids,” Rick tries to reason. “I am their father. They need me in their life.”

“Father eh?” Lori jeers. “That’s new. When have you ever been in their lives?”

Rick clenches his jaw. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“I knew,” Lori continues like he hasn’t spoken. “The day you came home after that shift you worked at the station. You smelled like cheap booze and fuckin’ cigarettes, like that damn _prostitute_.”

That remark gets his blood boiling. “Don’t you dare call him that—”

“I told you not to make a fool out of me,” Lori growls, getting up from her seat to face him. “What the  _fuck_ did you think I meant? You think I don’t know when my husband is cheating on me? With a man no doubt. I’ve always known!”

Rick feels like a fool. Of course she knew all along, she had to have known on some level. They’ve been together since they were sixteen.  _Still why didn’t she say anything? Why wait until now to reveal that?_

“Why didn’t you say anythin’?” Rick demands. “Why did you let me lie to you?”

“Because I was fine with it, until you started bringin’ that walking STD around our children.” Lori responds. “Well luckily we won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Lori glares at him, the intensity in her eyes is enough to make him physically recoil.

“Open your eyes Rick!” Lori barks. “Open them fuckin' _wide_!” 

He doesn’t understand. It all sounds like raving gibberish. Rick wracks his brain for something to say, his thoughts going round and round in circles. Despite all the intense words being thrown between them he can tell that she is wounded deeply, like an animal she is snarling viciously to distract her aggressor.

In this case _he_ is the aggressor, he tore their lives apart for someone else. A kid no doubt, someone barely budding from childhood to adulthood, Rick did that.

“We are not going to burn for this,” She starts speaking rapidly. “We had _nothing_ to do with your sick, twisted obsession with that boy. I will not suffer my children to be tainted by your perversion!”

Rick is thoroughly confused.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Lori sneers, her furious face fixed. “You don’t know do you? Too busy in your fuck den to see the news or read the _Goddamn papers_!” She flings it at him, narrowly missing his face.

He catches it brusquely, glaring at his wife before opening it up. The words seem obscure until they jump into focus. Rick doesn’t comprehend, the title of this newspaper is strange, cutting and vicious in an attempt to gain readers.

Rick reads the article, baffled and confused. **UNDERAGE BOY CONSENTS TO SEXUAL ADVANCES TO AN OFFICER TO AVOID TESTIFYING IN ON-GOING CASE.**

 _What on-going case_? Rick frowns but continues reading. The article is several paragraphs detailing Joe’s case. It goes on to say that he killed Joe in a jealous rage and that a boy (Presumably Daryl whom could not be named due to Child Law Protection Acts), was solicited by an officer several months ago and consented to sexual advances to avoid testifying.

The officer in question (Rick Grimes) is being investigated for Murder in the First Degree.

 _What the fuck_? He nearly barks out-loud. Where the hell did they get this trash from? They were investigation Joe because he was linked to child sex trafficking.

“This is garbage,” Rick says slowly. “I don’t know why you read that shit.”

“Is it?” Lori answers smugly. “Then why did Martin Coy contact me? Asking if I needed legal representation which I do now, no thanks to you.”

“He did what?”

“Oh yes  _baby_ ,” Lori hackles. “He told me the whole story. How that boy has RST and how he testified for you admitting that you were lovers and that it was consensual, but what you didn’t know was when they did the internal investigation some things were not adding up, more specifically Joe’s death.”

 _Goddamnit_ —Shane collected enough evidence to have him put away for a long time.

He knew Shane would never betray him like that, however, if they managed to somehow get a hold of that he would be thoroughly  _fucked_.

 _Sweet Christ_ —Deanna wouldn’t have known they were going to do an internal investigation, but given the monumental fuck-up of applying for guardianship while living together and being romantically linked, having Shane go bezerk and Deanna getting caught in the crossfire, why wouldn’t they? Daryl admitting they were lovers didn’t save them, it sealed their fates. Now Rick had the _motive_ to kill Joe.

There's a knock on the door.

Rick stands there holding the newspaper, dread pooling in his lower gut. _It can't be_.

Lori stares at him questionably and then leaps from her vanity table, her face stony and expressionless as she walks downstairs. Rick doesn't need to be a genius to figure-out who is waiting for him on the other side of the door. He wants to back away, leave this nightmare before it comes to fruition, his stomach tightens, his hands shake, his entire world is crumbling all because he liked to stuff pretty young holes with his cock. 

There are footsteps on the stairs, heavy and brutish, they are familiar because they echo his own at one point in his life. 

"Are you Rick Grimes?" The question is posed, the voice is steely and deep. 

"What's all this about?" Lori speaks, all of her bravado from before disappearing. 

Rick turns slowly, his battered face taking in the sight of two hulking police officers from an unknown district, internal investigations probably. Rick doesn't speak, he nods stiffy because this is the end; or at least some fraction of it. 

"You are under arrest for the murder of Joe Claimer in the first degree, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you..."

There’s an end to this story, it’s already written. Already foretold, since the day he laid eyes on Daryl he knew it would be his undoing, in more ways than one. There’s no clear beginning of course, like all things beautifully and tragically headed for destruction, there is however a random and opaque series of events that lead him to where his is now, where he was always meant to be.

The pieces are all falling into place, he played his part.

 _Eat of apple so young_ ….

He’s crawling back to the start.

 ~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 0_0 Sorry for the late update!
> 
> A big thanks to Iloveyousunshine for editing this chapter and all those who reviewed the last one!  
> You guys sincerely rock! 
> 
> Thoughts?


	25. Stay out of my way.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_  

Singularly enough, he seldom ever dreams of Daryl as he remembers him.

For some reason the images aren’t the same, they blur and distort, curve and belie into something else entirely.  The wispy tendrils of hair caressing his neck, the long nose, thin lips and azure stare becomes vague and obscure. It stuns him quite unexpectedly that he might actually _forget_ his fairy lover.

Something akin to agony settles in his core and he turns on his side in the uncomfortable bed. The light from the window illuminates the cell, he can see the full moon concealed by darkening clouds.

Daryl comes to him in his daymares.

Naked, always naked, drowning and wailing in despair. The kids mouth half open, rustic brown water flowing from it. His flawless skin of marble, splinters and cracks, while he is clawing to the surface.

As it turns out Mermaids can drown.

His lover isn’t gone yet, still stuck in Brymonville waiting for his cruel brother to return. Rick knows this because Daryl would have said goodbye, bid him farewell, he is positive of that.

There is no way he would leave without doing so.

Nullity is all he has left, he fell from his pedestal and is now crawling on his belly. He brought himself here, to the depths of hell. When the police took him away he could see the facade of his wife break, her face contorting to the painful realization that her world was toppling over. He recalls how she clung to him, snarling at the officers like a rabid animal over clumps of decaying flesh.

Being on the other side is different. All those men he put away are still here or at different prisons. Most of them regard him closely, their vulture eyes haunting his footsteps.

He doesn’t have the strength to care, he knows he deserves to be in here as much as they do.

“Grimes,” A guard calls. “You have a visitor.”

Rick gets up from his tiny bed, the orange fabric uncomfortable and itchy against his skin. He’s only been in the cell for 48 hours, but it still feels like a lifetime without Daryl.

They clamp cuffs on his hands and legs, he walks slowly and stiffly to the visiting area expecting to see Lori and the kids. When they first came Carl didn’t even look at him, while Lori was visibly stricken and frail as she rattled on about getting a good lawyer and making sure they remained united.

Rick didn’t give a damn about that, the only question threatening to tear through his lips was:  _Where_ _is Daryl_? Of course he didn’t ask, he clamped his mouth shut and nodded mindlessly.

They uncuff him when they get through the door and he sits behind a glass wall waiting for his visitor. There are a number of men beside him, all of them sitting around waiting for loved ones.

What stands in front of him is a shiny bald head, glistening from the luminous lights above them. Shane is all tense, purple bruising still covering his face in scattered cuts and broken skin, his eyes are black and unyielding.

They glare at each other, before Shane violently rips the phone off the hook and presses it to his ear, intolerance brimming in his features. Rick debates leaving, just getting up and walking out of there, but he knows that Shane came here for a reason and curiosity is gnawing in his chest.

Rick picks up the phone on his side, presses it to his ear calmly.

“Look, I ain’t here to stir trouble—”

“Then _why_ are you here?” Rick attacks, immediately ready to strike.

“To tell ya the truth,” Shane says.

The sincerity is alarming because despite everything that has happened Rick would still trust this man with his life. “What truth?”

“Those cuts on his back, did he say Joe did that to him?” Shane asks.

The question seems all wrong, the words tumbling out of his mouth aren’t actually what he wants to say. Rick can see that, he can see it in the way Shane promptly darts his eyes away.

Rick’s brows furrow. “Yes, but I don’t see—”

“He lied ‘bout that.” Shane continues. “I read his file, dating back to when his father was alive. Deanna had nearly half-a dozen paper-work filled out by social-workers, school teachers who petitioned the court to get Daryl away from his father.”

Rick swallows thickly. “That changes nothin’.”

Shane glowers at him. “Ya still can’t see it can ya? Daryl is an unreliable witness. Hell, half the shit he says cannot be admissible in court. I read his file, he suffers from a shit ton of mental illness starting with RTS, disassociation disorder ect—”

“Get to the _fuckin'_ point _._ Why are you here?” Rick seethes, his hand curling into a fist. “I know Daryl’s itinerary, I know his background and mental illnesses. What I also know is that you don’t give a damn ‘bout our relationship. So again, why are _you_ here?”

Shane fidgets, his nimbly fingers toying with the cord on the phone.

“Lori and I are together.”

There it is, their secrets are finally coming to the light. Rick isn’t exactly sure how he feels about this, a strange mix of hot betrayal, rage and intense, overwhelming indifference.

He left his wife months ago.

Technically he shouldn’t give a damn if she sleeps with the whole town, but _Shane_ of all people? His best friend? That is fucking sick. His stomach turns just thinking about it.

There are some lines that just shouldn’t be crossed, some barriers that shouldn’t be overturned.

It’s the principle of the matter, he concludes. Lori is still his wife, those are still his children. They still _belong_ to him and he wasn’t going to let Shane weasel his way into their lives while he was rotting away in here.

“How long?” Rick barks, his hand curling around the phone. “How long have you been _fuckin’_ my wife?”

“Not long brother,” Shane pleads. “I swear it happened a few weeks ago.”

“In my house?” Rick replies, each word gaining volume.

“Never,” Shane says. “Look thangs ain’t what they used to be. Lori she was lonely and desperate, she thought ya were seein’ someone else. Hell, we both thought ya were with Daryl….you wouldn’t talk to me….I asked ya, over and over again if you wanted to talk and you didn’t say shit—”

“So, it’s my fault?”

“Of course not,” Shane huffs. “I’m just sayin’ thangs got fucked up. We weren’t a family anymore, ya left us for that Dixon kid and we…imploded...”

Rick can see it now, the disjunctions in his demeanor, a subtle scream for help. Perhaps he was too consumed by desire to notice how his family began to cave in.

They sought comfort in each other.

 _Sweet Christ_ —the worst thing about this is that he _understands_ why.

Lori’s hyena laugh, nearly forming at the mouth with cruel feigned detachment. And Shane, who has no family besides him, nobody to count on or to talk to, left negligent to fend for himself.

Rick kept them both grounded.

He leveled Shane with reasoning and practicality, bringing his temperamental and destructive behaviour to heel. With Lori  he was her ally, her knight in shining armour ready and willing to slay dragons for her. Although he felt nothing for her sexually he still should have been there for her.

They are not the victims, but then again neither is he.

 _God_ —he’s failed them.

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. When did he lose himself? When did he come so infatuation that he lost everything and everyone?

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Rick chokes. “I fucked up….I fucked up big time...I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I’m sorry too,” Shane says. “You’re my brother, I’ll always have yer back no matter what.”

Rick nods gratefully. “How do I fix this?”

“Don’t worry, we got ya a sweet ass lawyer,” Shane responds. “She’s got balls of steele and she’s never lost a case. Her name is Alpha and in my opinion emotionally constipated.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation Rick snorts, then smiles.

“Man, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a dick under her dress or somethin’. She’s got more balls than you or me and a wicked tongue at that.”

Rick laughs shaking his head. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. No homo,” Shane adds, grinning. “We good?”

“Yeah,” Rick replies. “We’re good.”

“In regards to Lori, you know I would protect her with my life. They won’t have to worry ‘bout nothin’. I’ll be good to her, I swear it.”

“I know ya will,” Rick says.

Shane ducks his head bashfully. “Despite everythang that’s happened, yer still my best friend. I reckon any guy who can swing a mean left hood ain’t so bad.”

“Speak for yerself,” Rick responds. “My jaw is still achin’.”

“Just like when we were kids,” Shane chuckles.

The shift between them is conspicuous, Rick feels his heart swell with adoration for his best friend. No matter what they were still solid, no matter what they would weather the storm together.

It was refreshing to know that he wasn’t entirely alone.  

~

Lori _fucking_ Shane is ripe in his mind.

Their relations fermenting right before his eyes. Bodies thrusting, dipping, diving, dimpling flesh a dizzying mess of pleasure.

His wife moaning, perky breast bouncing, plump ass springing in the air. Shane is all hard abs, rock solid features as he fucks her with a vengeance, brutish force bordering on violence.

Lori always did like it rough.

His mouth floods with acid, the thought of them together makes him so sick he can barely look at them. The way they sat next to each other, their bodies strategically angled away.

Rick finds the thought alone repulsive, so revolting that he nearly leaves the room.

They were supposed to be family. Shane was like a _brother_ to him and thought of his brother fucking his wife sent nausea rippling through his core. Lori was above all else a hypocritical and vindictive slut, spreading her legs like a goddamn— _no_ , he shouldn’t go there.

He drove her to such extremities to begin with.

Yet, a part him believes she must have known about their argument. She must have known that Shane attacked him, assaulted him and _spat_ on him for loving Daryl.

Now it seems all of that is in the past now, historical fiction and whatnot.

Rick doesn’t love her, he doesn’t want her back, doesn’t even desire her but he feels somehow _betrayed_ by all of this. Even though he has no right to be, even though he is the scum of the earth who slept with a child and killed someone in cold blood.

So he says nothing about their infidelity. Doesn’t even flinch when Shane comes uninvited to his first Lawyer meeting with Alpha and Lori.

Although he appreciates the support he can’t help but look for signs of their relationship.

It becomes clear, however early on that they won’t flaunt it in front of his face. Rick is almost grateful for that— _almost_. Until he starts to notice the subtle hints, underlining moves or glances that make him feel uneasy.

Shane is impliable and tense like a board, almost as if he was physically struggling not to reach out and touch her. Lori is on the other side of the steel table, back straight, eyes focused, purposefully fixed on the bland picture frame above the door.

What a sight the three of them must be.

Rick in chains, bound from head to toe wearing an orange jumper silently awaiting his fate. While his wife visibly struggles not to tear his face off in blind rage. And Shane, who looks about as comfortable as an elephant in a mouse cage.

The silence is deafening.

Just then the door opens, in walks a woman in a crisp black suit with a white blouse. Her face is stoney, head shaved severely and her eyes scrutinizing every move.

“Rick Grimes?” She demands. “My name is Alpha, you can call me Alpha.” She doesn’t hold out her hand, doesn’t even bother to stare at him with anything other than contempt.

He doesn’t like her.

However, according to Shane she is the best and that’s all he needs to know right now, the rest can wait. He nods and glances at her expectantly.

“Let’s get started,” Alpha says opening her brief case and taking out a note pad. She gracelessly sits, spreading her legs obscenely wide, black ink punctures the paper as she aggressively makes jot-notes. “Did you kill Joe out of jealousy?”

 _What the hell_? The question is so abrupt he doesn’t answer it immediately. Of course he wouldn’t kill Joe out of jealousy, even if the bastard was as corrupt as they come.

“No, I didn’t.”

“I’d believe you, but then we’d both be wrong.” Alpha sneers.

Rick grinds his teeth together. “Is your winnin’ personality what I am payin’ you for?”

“I’ll try being nicer, if you try being smarter.”

“What the _fuck_ is that—”

“Stop it,” Lori chimes in. “Both of you.”

“Look,” Rick says. “I went to the Dixon residence because we found out that Joe was involved in human trafficking that might be linked to child pedophila. Our research team has been investigating the Claimers since Dale’s death and we finally got a lead from Ed’s computer—”

“And what of your relationship with Dixon? How does he comes into play?”

“I met him when he was being abused by Joe. We used to….” Rick looks at Lori for a moment hesitating.  _God_ —it’s humiliating to rehash this, to even speak about his rendezvous with a young boy late at night. Nevertheless, it needs to be said. “Meet at night sometimes…to talk primarily…"

“Before engaging in sexual activity?” Alpha asks.

“Yes.”

“How long were you sexual active with Mr. Dixon?”

“Give or take six months.”

“What kind of intercourse did you engaged in?”

Rick shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “What do ya mean?”

“I mean,” She derides slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “Was it sadomasochism? Did Mr. Dixon like it rough? Did you guys engaged in anal sex, anal fisting, rimming, ass-play, cum-play? Did he suck you off, spit in your mouth, shit-play? Was he ever tied up or bound?”

“No,” Rick babbles. “I mean— _yes_ , to the anal sex, rimming, he did suck me off and it was rough. Not rough, _rough_ but kind of rough. He wasn’t tied up or anythin’...”

 _Christ_ —describing his sex life to his wife and best friend was beyond degrading. He hates every second of it, but he knew that Alpha needed to know everything about their relationship.

Lori visibly flinches, her hands are clasped tightly together.

“Can Mr. Dixon collaborate this?”

“Yes.” Rick responds strongly. “What do ya reckon they are gonna do?”  

“Discredit you most likely by turning you into a sexual deviant or if that doesn’t work a violent one.” Alpha responds coolly. “Starting with you assaulting Ed. Then move on to your relationship, although consensual with a minor. Since you are in a position of power internal investigations will be itching to make an example of you, which I can tell you right now is not going to be good.”

“How though?” Lori says. “Rick has been in service for nearly fifteen years, they can’t disregard that.”

“Yes they can,” Alpha says bluntly. “Look, your husband decided to shit where he eats, which isn’t exactly the best choice. My job right now is to make sure the judge is willing to grant him bail, meaning I’ll have to prove he is not a threat to society.”

“How will you do that?” Shane chimes in.

“Simple,” Alpha responds icily. “Luckily Rick has done a lot of charity work, since he was formally Police Commissioner and served our country the Judge will be willing to grant him some leniency. Providing Rick claims his relationship with Mr. Dixon was a mistake and renounce him—”

“ _Renounce_ him?” Rick barks back. This is all wrong, he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t give up the one person that means the most to him, that was practically inconceivable.

Alpha stares at him impatiently. “You didn’t honestly believe you would be _allowed_ to carry on this relationship while the trail is going on. The whole point is to prove you had no motive for killing Joe, that it wasn't a jealous rage, but your life was actually in danger. With the media involved it’ll be easier to paint you as a repented husband who made a mistake. You and your family will appear united, we will portray you as a good man, a family man, that’s the only way we are going to win.”

“So,” Lori says. “Just to clarify. If we show a united front, as a family then the judge will be more inclined to grant bail?”

“In a nutshell, yes.” Alpha says. “We need to act fast, get the media on our side before more information starts leaking out—”

“You are askin’ me to—” Remove his heart from his chest, cut out his lungs, his breathe so that a judge will grant him clemency. “I cannot and I will not give _him_ up.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So...I lied....turns out this story might be longer than I originally thought lol 
> 
> Anyways thanks to Iloveyousunshine for editing this story!
> 
> Thoughts?


	26. Shine down upon the broken.

_~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_  

On the bed spread eagle, with his legs up to the sky.

With the devil in his eyes, while Rick prys his mouth open, tongue thrusts wildly, tangling and weaving. Daryl moans, so sweet and delicious that Rick swallows it whole.

It’s one of those nights.

Where he is utterly insatiable, his body crying with need and mad with hunger for his fay feathered lover. It’s the dead of night, both of them awaken by Rick blindly inserting his cock between Daryl’s ass cheeks.

The head of his cock is angry and inflated, veiny and thickening with every breathe. Daryl mumbles something before turning onto his side, readily spreading for him.

Rick forces his ass cheeks apart, the swollen head of his cock impatiently thrusting forward, breaching the taut ring of rippling puckered muscle. They both moan when he pushes in, heat engulfs his core as he continues to make shallow thrusts, opening up the canal, the tip of his dick producing pearl beads.

Of course he watches every moment, enthralled with the sight of him connecting to his lover, to the light and soul of his life. The sight alone makes him tingle, a low growl erupts from the back of his throat.

It’s so damn feral, he wraps a hand around Daryl’s neck, pressing their lips together in a brutish kiss. The action is not gentle, it’s bordering on maliciousness and electric charges so intense he is struck by his own vigor.

Tongues tangle, lips swish and suck, it’s by far fucking _nasty_ , but he loves every second of it.

Daryl half asleep at first, mouth demure, before turning aggressive and receptive. The kids body is sodden, hair plastered to his forehead. Rick can feel it, the sweat with each grunt, in the way their bodies slip and slide together in a massive interwoven web.

“I love you,” Rick breathes with everything in him.

But there was nothing in him. For he had lost his usefulness in that regard, a limbless monster unable to smother his prey with tenderness and care.

Something is wrong.

Daryl melts away, his body dissolving into dispersed particles in the air. Rick watches tears falling from his eyes, a piercing scream erupting from his vocal chords.

Reliable Rick is left cradling the breeze.

~

He gasps awake, his mind spinning.

What the hell was that? A dream. A memory or better yet a phantom coming to haunt him. Which one he isn’t sure, all he knows that he isn’t going to last long here.

The darkness whispers to much, the shadows grow too large and menacing. Nothing is ever as it seems as he wastes away in purgatory. What has he done?

Alpha had glared at him, his admission was foolishly said and now he was paying the price. She gathered her things, stuffing her papers unceremoniously into her briefcase before leaving the room.

Rick didn’t stand a chance, she had said. They would tear him apart.

All he had to do was renounce Daryl, say that he never loved him and that it was all a farce. A game, an act and so on and whatnot.

Yet, he couldn’t do it.

They didn’t understand that Daryl would be watching, he would see the one person he depended on, the one person that gave a damn about him forsake him.

Daryl was all alone, the people who were supposed to love him didn’t. The family he was supposed to have sold him into prostitution. What would he think if Rick gave him up just as easily?

Sure, he could lie and love Daryl in secret. Of course he could, but that would be treading backwards, diving head first into the raw sewage he climbed out of.

There would be no end, and dear _God_ —did he want it to end.

Carl and Judith should know that their father loves someone else. The shame would pass, the hurt would fade, with time they will all be rejuvenated.

Rick is sure of it.

 _~_  

Two weeks later there is a bail hearing.

“It’s easy,” Alpha says. “The prosecution is going to try to prove you are a menace to society. Which obviously you aren’t. You have a clean record, no prior convictions so this should be a walk in the park.”

Shane and Lori are there as usual, sitting so far apart it’s almost as if there is a canyon is between them.

“Is there anything I should know? Any prior reports that internal investigations are looking into?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Shane cuts his eye at him, it’s quick and brief but it’s enough to make Rick stare back. The glance is fleeting, a mere flicker but in Shane's eyes he can see it, black twisting orbs, a darkening expression of the vicious man he fought before. 

Just as soon as it happens, it’s over. Shane turns his full attention to Alpha, face serene and back straight.

“Good,” Alpha responds. “Since you’ve decided to go against my council we must work around the questions the prosecution is going to ask you.”

“They will want to know specifics, dates, times, how often you engaged in sexual activity, any witnesses. Although Daryl said his sex with you was consensual which will work in our favour. However, we have to spin this in a way to destroy the motive.” Alpha explains. “That is how we can get the judge to grant you bail.”

Rick stares at her perplexed. “I don’t understand...ya mean to suggest that he was a prostitute and enjoyed it…”

“Precisely,” Alpha continues. “If we paint Daryl as a sexual deviant, say that he enjoyed sex and had it regularly with many men then they won’t have a motive to suggest you killed Joe in a jealous rage.”

“That could work,” Shane injects, fired up. “Once we destroy the motive than they ain’t got much of a case. The whole thing will blow wide open!”

Lori exhales. “Thank goodness. I can put the house up as collateral and then we can figure out the rest later.”

 _No_ , he wants to shout. It isn’t right. Daryl didn’t have sex with those men because he wanted to. He was fucking forced into it at the age of twelve. Joe did that to him, molested him, annihilated his soul until there was barely anything left.

For  _Christsakes_ —he was just a kid.  

They are all giddy, each of them speaking like rapid-fire about the prospect of Rick being released. He can barely stand it, he knows he cannot refute this. If he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life rotting in prison then he has to bend.

He swallows thickly, stomach turning in a way that seems unnatural.

Alpha plans to use Daryl’s sexual abuse against him. To paint the kid as some kind of nympho-maniac in order to clear Rick’s name. The whole thing is _barbaric_ , so fucking disgusting it made his blood curdle.

“I have to see him.”

His voice cuts through their enthusiasm, causing their smiles to wane and dime.

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Alpha answers, fixing her cream colored blouse.

“Please,” Rick begs. “I need to know if he’s alright. Just let me—I can just talk over phone or somethin’, anythin’—”

“I’m sorry,” Alpha responds coolly. “I thought someone would have told you.”

“Told me what?”

“Merle is back.”

~

The courtroom is just like he remembers.

He’s been to this one hundreds of times, usually escorting prisoners or testifying. Never before has he been on the other side. Today they let him wear a suit, it’s a plain dark blue one, along with a pale blue tie.

Lori says it makes him look less threatening.

They allow him to shave and trim his hair. Rick does these things methodically without thinking. The news of Merle returning was startling, he knew it was inevitable but he didn’t think it would happen so fast.  

Now he knew he had to get the hell out of here.

No wonder Daryl didn’t visit, no wonder he didn’t call. Rick could justify all his vacancies and narrow it down to one simple obstruction— _Merle_. His brother was like poison, lethal as he coils in the veins, attaching himself to red blood cells and sucking the oxygen out of them.

So, he put on the damn suit, shaved his fucking face and trimmed his hair. He would dress up like a clown if he could get out of here fast enough. Nothing else matters, he needs to leave this prison. He cannot abandon Daryl to the whim of his corrupt older brother and watch him waste away.

The guards take him to the courtroom, where his sits beside Alpha. His family is right behind himself along with Shane and a few people from the force.

Rick is glad for the support.

On the prosecution's side he can see Andrea Harrison speaking quietly to Martin Coy, then a few people from internal investigations are sitting on the council with him.

“All rise.”

They all stand.

“The honorable Judge Gerald Mathis presiding.”

Another old fart that he could care less about.

 _The odds are in your favor_ , Alpha said. _They know you have a spotless record and you have been an officer for years_ , Alpha said. Rick hopes to God that she is correct.

Once the judge was settled the witch hunt began.

“Prosecution charges Richard Victor Grimes with murder in the first degree of Joe Claimer.” Martin Coy says. “We believe Mr. Grimes entered Mr. Claimers residence with the motive and intent to kill him, once he realized that Mr. Claimer was not a relative of Mr. Dixon.”

“Motive?” The judge presses, looking bored.

“Mr. Grimes has been carrying on a secret sexual relationship with Mr. Dixon for several months. That although it is consensual, it gives Mr. Grimes the motive to kill Mr. Claimer.”

“Defense?”

“My client is an upstanding citizen. He’s been the police commissioner for nearly five years and has been on the force for ten. I motion to dismiss all charges, considering the vast and extensive years of training he has on the force. Mr. Claimer was being investigated for human trafficking, which he was found guilty on. The personal relationship Mr. Grimes has with Mr. Dixon is not enough to suggest that he killed Mr. Claimer in a jealous rage.”

“Dismiss all charges eh?” Judge Gerald says, his eyes crinkling but his lips remaining firm. “That’s an ambitious statement considering we have just started Ms. Whisperer.”  

“I go on facts, not the hypothetical.” Alpha says sneers.

“Sure,” Judge Gerald waves his hand dismissively. “What evidence does the prosecution have?”

“Exhibit A,” Martin responds handing the Judge a photograph. “Mr. Claimer was shot point blank in the head, Mr. Grimes said he was charged but there is no evidence to support that.”

“What else?” Judge Gerald answers, clearly not impressed.

“Various eyewitnesses stating that Mr. Dixon and Mr. Grimes met on a variety of occasions to engage in sexual activity. They would meet at a motel off of highway 95.”

“Your honor,” Alpha interrupts. “Mr. Dixon engaged in many sexual relationships. So what if Mr. Grimes and Mr. Dixon like to get it on? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“They were living together,” The judge adds suspiciously.

“Because they were waiting for his older brother Merle Dixon to return. This is nothing but circumstantial evidence.” Alpha says confidently, her dark eyes scanning the room for any objections. “Mr. Grimes is a patriot, serving his country by investigating a man that was breaking the law. As for their relationship, which we have on record by Mr. Dixon, it was very loving and consensual.”

Shane is right, she’s good.

“Well….given that he has no prior convictions and that Mr. Claimer was being investigated I see no reason to keep Mr. Grimes—”

“One moment,” Martin chimes in. “Ms. Harrison has just brought some new information to light.”

The Judge looks disgruntled. “What is it?”

“It seems here that Mr. Grimes assaulted Ed Peletier on the day he was arrested for assault and battery.”

Alpha turns on him viciously.

 _What the fuck_? Andrea was a vengeful bitch when she wanted to be.

“What does Ed Peletier have to do with anything?” Alpha demands.

“It is known that Mr. Grimes has a violent temper. He is not afraid to lash out on criminals regardless if it is warranted or not.”

“ _Objection_ ,” Alpha barks. “That has absolutely nothing to do with the charges of murder—”

“Overruled,” the Judge cuts her off brusquely.

“If Mr. Grimes has a history of abusing convicts what is there to stop him from murder them point blank.” Martin continues. “Mr. Grimes knows how to use a weapon, he is proven to be dangerous and reckless with his abuse of power and authority.”

“Yes, I see.”

The tides are turning, he can see it now.  

 _Fuck_ Andrea—why the hell did she do that for? God, everything was going to be ruined now. What he was going to do? Didn’t she understand that Ed deserved that? The piece of shit nearly _beat_ his wife to death.

“The prosecution is grasping at straws,” Alpha rants. “My client was just doing his job, he responded to a call at the Peletier's residence. It is common knowledge that Ed abuses his wife, my client used the necessary amount of force to subdue him.”

“Exhibit B,” Martin approaches the bench with more pictures. “Mr. Peletier had multiple fractures on his face, not to mention a broken cheek as well as a broken nose. This is unnecessary force.”

“Hmmm,” the Judge glances over the pictures. “Well, this does change things…”

“Your honor we were not made aware that the prosecution was going to bring up past grievances. If we were to go through Mr. Grimes’ history then I’m sure there would be a number of criminals that he used _necessary_ force on. This case is nothing special, Ed Peletier beat his wife and that is why she got a restraining order against him.”

“I understand that,” the Judge responds. “However, given the severity of the most recent allegations I feel it is my duty to investigate further before granting your client bail. We will adjourn 3:00 pm tomorrow.”

The gavel comes down with a resounding smack.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * A big thanks to Iloveyousunshine for editing this chapter. Also to those who reviewed the last chapter :) 
> 
> Daryl's point of view is coming up soon! 
> 
> Thoughts?


	27. Shine on benevolent sun.

> _~*~_

_Thank you, Elvis_

_~*~_  

In such a wilderness as this, he is alone.

Judgment day has come, the reckoning is here and Rick Grimes will be thrown to the wolves. Judge Gerald Mathis approaches the bench, face hard, soul withered as he regards them all with cool indifference.

“You may be seated.”

The judge wastes no time. “I’ve gone over various reports, weight and balanced the evidence against Mr. Grimes and I think it’s only proper if we have Mrs. Peletier testify since she was there.”

Some shuffling, a few murmurings in the courtroom.

Rick recalls the last time he saw Carol. She was like a bird with two broken wings, still struggling fiercely to fly. He remembers how he fumed, paced her dainty house back and forth, snarling like a lion before shoving restraining order papers in her defiant face.

Behind the busted eye, black and blue face she had glared at him with vengeance.

The woman they call to the stand doesn’t look like Carol at all. She is clean, tidy, still about the size of a bird, but serene almost. Rick hardly recognizes her.

“Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?”

“I do.” She says meekly.

The judge leans forward. “No need to be alarmed, this is just the bail hearing. I’m going to ask you a few questions to understand what happened to your ex-husband, alright?”

Carol nods shyly.

“What happened when Mr. Grimes and Mr. Walsh entered your home?”

Carol takes them through the events of that day, her words are strong and detailed, going over exactly what happened. “Did Mr. Grimes physically harm Mr. Peletier in anyway that would be deemed unlawful?”

Something flashes in her eyes, a hint of hardness solidifying into malevolence.

“It all comes down to this,” Carol responds sternly. “My baby girl is alive because of this man, because he stood up to my ex-husband and made sure we got out alive. All of us in town can be a testament of that. I reckon that regardless of what he is or who he loves, Rick Grimes is a good man.”

He is stunned silent, along with the rest of the courtroom.

“Good,” The judge says. “You may step down.”

~

Precariously he relinquishes his labor of agony.

The small yet, vital testimony seem to put him in better light with the judge. Lori gently touches his shoulder, her smile is thin but consolidating all the same. While Shane stares off into the distance, almost as if he’s in another world.

Martin Coy approaches the bench, whispering tightly to Alpha and the Judge.

“I see no reason why not,” The judge shrugs.

Martin looks triumphant, strutting back to his side like a peacock. Alpha doesn’t look too pleased, but she approaches him anyway.

“They want to call Shane to the stand.”

Rick nearly lurches forward, alarmed. “What for?”

“I’m not sure,” Alpha turns to Shane who seems completely calm by the news. “Probably just to judge your character since he’s the closest one to you.”

This doesn’t seem right, in fact the whole thing seems fucking twisted. Before he can comment further Shane is already getting up and walking to the stand.

Alpha and Lori look perplexed as he says his vows.

“How long have you known Mr. Grimes?” Martin walks towards the bench.

“Give or take twenty years.”

“Have you ever known Mr. Grimes to have anger issues?”

“On occasion.”

Rick watches closely, trying to understand why Shane is up there to begin with. Alpha didn’t do a mock trial with him, there might be questions he won’t be expecting.

 _Why wouldn’t he let Alpha instruct him before going to the stand?_  The question leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but he swallows it anyway.

“Mr. Walsh is it true that former Police Commissioner Grimes assaulted Ed Peletier? That his injuries were so severe he had to be hospitalized for several days even though he was attacked unarmed?”

“Yes.”

“So, would you say that in your professional opinion that Mr. Grimes is prone to violent outbreaks?”

“Objection your Honor, that’s a leading question, Mr. Walsh is not qualified to make that clinical assessment.” Alpha chimes in.

“Overruled,” The judge stated, turning back towards Shane. “Answer the question Mr. Walsh.”

There is a long pause, wherein Shane looks directly at him. The movement is subtle, unnatural in its disposition.

Suddenly Rick sees it, the gaze he saw when Shane tried to kill him with his bare hands, eyes the color of hell-fire, twisting and twirling in different directions.

“Yes, I would.”

The courtroom erupts in chaos.

Alpha is shouting at the top of her lungs while Martin is spitting rapidly over her.

“Mr. Grimes is a loose cannon! It is clear that Mr. Grimes broke into Mr. Claimer’s residence and shot the victim point blank without obtaining a warrant to search the premises or reading the victim his rights!” Martin exclaims boorishly.

“Where did you get your law degree? At the zoo? All the evidence is circumstantial!”

“—Mr. Claimer was unarmed and when Mr. Grimes stated that he was charged the evidence shows that Mr. Claimer was shot point blank in the head, no warning shots, no wounding shots, but instead a fatal one.”

“Order in the court!” The judge slams his hammer down.

“There is evidence that suggests that Mr. Grimes and Mr. Dixon had a sexual relationship, it is common knowledge that he even left his wife, purchased an apartment under the pretense of filing for guardianship!” Martin barks.

“Enough Mr. Coy!” The judge grunts. “Be quiet or I’ll hold you both in contempt of court.”

They settle down immediately.

“We will adjourn tomorrow and I will give my verdict then.”  The judge says tiredly.

~

The radio plays on the way back to the prison.

Rick sits, half listening as the world fades around him.  Honestly at this point he shouldn’t be surprised. What would Shane have to gain if he ever got out of prison? The life constructed with Lori was slowly decaying, along with his relationship with his children.

However, if he returned then he could repair things, brick by brick, stone by stone and that’s what Shane was afraid of. By now he’s accepted the fact that Shane’s apology was never genuine to begin with, it only let his guard down so the betrayal would be much worse.

And it was.

Rick remembers watching Shane step down from the stand, looking smug and self-satisfied. His eyes glowing a vibrant red, fangs elongated, horns jutting from his skull.

The demon has taken another form.

_“Look Gale, these things, these creatures are not human! Maybe they were once before but they aren’t anymore. We cannot treat them like they are people. Six hundred people have already been infected, who's to say we won’t be infected just by being around them!”_

_“You are talking about people's family members, their husband, their wives, their children. We cannot abandon them simply because they don’t stay dead.”_

_“Listen to your words! They are dead. They are dead but they came back to life! My only concern right now would be for the living!”_

_“And that’s all the time we have for today, Ted thank you for joining us on CFM 91.1 radio_ _—”_

~

It was love at first sight, it was love at last sight.

And every sight in between. Rick recalls the first, staring into those memorizing emerald orbs in the interrogation room, watching smoke curl around the kids mouth. How intoxicating. That look, smell, touch—all of it slowly, irrecoverably driving him mad.

Rick listens as the clock ticks, he then kicks his legs out on the small bed.

The single bed groans under his weight, squeaking loudly as the springs move with each breathe. He knows deep down he was always meant to be here, in this cage. To some degree he likes cages, first being the house he bought with his wife, a crippling hulking gilded box, with iron bars welded into the floors.

The second being here, a literal prison, filled with bad men and actual bars preventing him from ever leaving. One way or another the judge will come to a decision, whether it be favorable or unfavorable.

“Grimes,” The guard calls. “Visitor.”

Rick gets up from his bed mechanically, moving like a robot towards the slit in the cell door. He sticks his hands in, they clamp cuffs on, then the guard opens the door.

He walks down the long corridor mindlessly.

Since the trail his visitors have been few and far between. To them he is guilty, which isn’t at all surprising. The only person who visits now is Lori, and even her visits have waned considerably.

Rick reaches the visitors area in record time and grabs a seat in the corner behind thick glass. He hunches over, frowning when he notices several other prisoners glaring harshly at him. It’s nothing new, it’s not every time cons see a fellow CO among them. Over the past days their animosity has been growing, a darkening shadow stretching further and further towards him.

He should probably fear for his life.

Most cops inside prisons don’t make it past the first year. However, he doesn’t concern himself with that now. Instead he steels his nerves, tries to remain hopeful that the judge will make a good decision.

Even though he knows he deserves to be here as much as anyone else.

The gates buzz open and in walk the visitors. Rick perks up, observing a flood of people enter the room, most of them families with small children. He expects to see Lori and Judith among the faces, Carl came only once and barely looked at him through the duration of the visit.

The crowd parts and his breath catches in his throat.

Daryl is standing near the gate. He’s wearing a flimsy sweater, along with his army pants and signature combat boots.

His heart slams against his chest, nervousness, excitement and fear all assault his sense. The minute Daryl sees him he strides over, the kids long legs purposefully propelling him towards Rick.

Daryl sits down in front of him, hastily grabbing the phone off the hook.

Rick fumbles for a moment, caught between being aghast to see him and wanting to punch a hole through the six inches of glass just to touch him.

He picks up the phone.

“Rick.”

“Daryl,” He says almost like a prayer. _God_ —it feels like he’s been waiting so long for this. Rick frantically looks him over, taking in his fine bone features, slanted eyes and perfect mouth. “What—how….”

Daryl looks away, uncomfortably before exhaling harshly.

“They told me Merle came back…..” Rick starts cautiously. “Are you okay?”

Daryl’s face crumbles, he shakes his head almost stubbornly, pressing his lips together to stop the emotion from bubbling over. “Just fuckin’ dandy. What the fuck does it gotta do with ya anyhow?”

The words are mangled, broken and carry absolutely no weight. Rick doesn’t need to be a detective to know that whatever is happening with Merle is bad. From far away Daryl looked normal, skin sun-kissed, hair a beautiful chestnut brown, features pure and ageless.

Up close he is something else.

Daryl’s hair is greasy, sticking to his forehead as sweat lingers on his brow. The bags under his eyes are deep and dark, almost as if he hasn’t slept in days.

Rick looks and looks at Daryl.

Then he looks some more and he knows that he loves Daryl more than anything he’s seen or imagined on earth.

“Christ—” Rick says hastily, feeling his heart thunder. “Look at me, I’m shaking. I was so nervous ‘bout seein’ you. I didn’t think I ever would again—”

“I suck dick for money.”

Rick balks at that. “ _What_?”

“I like it,” Daryl continues, there is a deranged almost malicious glint in his eyes. “I like having hairy balls in my face, in my mouth, up my ass. Ya name it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ya should watch me fuck,” Daryl barks. “I’m a damn champ! I’ll take three at a time if I can. One right after the next, like some goddamn bitch.”

Rick frowns deeply, trying to make sense of this random outburst. “I know yer past….that’s never bothered me before.”

“Well it should!” Daryl nearly shouts. “I’ll do anything for a big fat cock, I’ve done everythin’ under the sun. I love it when they stuff me double.”

Several heads turn to stare at them.

Rick grips the phone tightly. “Calm down. What’s all this ‘bout?”

“I’m a _whore_.” Daryl growls. “I’ve had next to ten STD’s—”

“I love you regardless.”

Daryl clamps his mouth shut, several tears escape his eyes.

Rick leans forward. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I—I’ve fuckin’ ruined your life! Can’t ya see that? I’ve destroyed everythin’!”

“No, you didn’t—”

“I did.” Daryl says. “For fucksakes you’re in prison because of me!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rick responds. “I don’t blame you. The only person to blame is myself, for taking advantage of you.”

Daryl’s bottom lip trembles, he clenches his fist.

“Now, I don’t know what brought this on but you didn’t do this to me. I did it to myself. I took advantage of you and it was wrong. You’ve done nothin' wrong. If it takes you a while to come to terms with it that’s fine. I’ll wait for you, I’ll wait for you forever.”

“Don’t,” Daryl spits back. “Don’t fuckin’ wait for me. We’re leavin’ town, tonight. You’ll never see me again.”

The words were like a sledgehammer to the face.

Rick tries to breathe through the pain, but the panic alone makes him suffocate. He knew this day would come, all along he knew that Daryl would be taken away from him. It’s much worse than anything he’s ever imagined, because he can’t do anything about it. “Ya don’t mean that, we’ll see each other—”

“No, we won’t.” Daryl takes a stuttering breath, tears falling from his eyes. “Don’t ya understand? Ya mean nothin’ to me, absolutely nothin’.”

“I don’t believe you,” Rick responds sternly. “Yer lying—”

“I’ve never fuckin’ loved you.” Daryl says coldly.

Those few words pierce what’s left of his heart.

Rick feels his eyes sting something fierce, almost as if his world is exploding around him. The thundering grows louder, deafening in his ears, coursing through his arms and bursting into his lungs.

He gave up everything—his home, his wife, his life, for love. The notion that should be everlasting, all consuming, and instead ending in horrible pit of despair.

Time slows down as Daryl slams the phone down and walks out of the gate and out of his life.

In spite of everything Rick loved Daryl, on his knees or crawling on his belly, for his has lied, killed and stolen, tore his world apart, set fire to the sky, dismantled the sun and then sum— _all in the name of love_.

Perhaps, sometime afterwards when his heart is thawed from stone and he can breathe in a way that doesn’t cripple his very core he will chance upon an explanation. Some way to solve the puzzle how to get Daryl back into his arms, where he belongs. The lines connect them both, from A to B. Now that they’ve been broken they are disjointed, crisscrossing, winding and deviating to different parts.

Reliable Rick yearns to envision them connected again, instead of seeing random patterns and scribbles, he hopes to see beauty in the vibrant colors, broad strokes and hysteric lines.

He knows his love for Daryl is true.

 _But what can you do with a man who has no love for you_?

~

Rick is underwater.

The guards escort him back to his cell. Tears cascading down his face, mind screaming at him to turn back, to chase after what is already gone. The guards disregard the whimpering man, they gaze right past him as he openly weeps.

“Die kid fucker!”

The blow comes out of nowhere, sending him falling to the ground.

Then everything fades to black.

~

 _3 months later_ ….

“Will he ever wake up?” Lori asks, staring at her incapacitated husband lying in the hospital bed.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Grimes….” The doctor shakes his head. “With these things you can never be sure.”

Eventually they leave, knowing there isn’t anything more they can do.

The lines on the monitor beep, filling the deafening silence in the room. Rick drifts between this world and the next, raptured between the two. The flowers on his night table wither over time, the world turns, people transform.

In the quaint hospital room, in the midst of lawlessness and pandamonium his fingers twitch.

~

_“Some people—and I am one of them—hate happy ends. We feel cheated. Harm is the norm. Doom should not jam. The avalanche stopping in its tracks a few feet above the cowering village behaves not only unnaturally but unethically.”_

_― Vladimir Nabokov_

~*~

_finn_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * :) wow.
> 
> That's all I can say.
> 
> Two years ago I started this story, the plot was already worked out in my head and I knew how I wanted it to end.  
> However, I never anticipated how much of a journey this would actually be! The ups and downs, highs and lows, long nights filled with frustration, hoping that I was doing these characters justice. I've grown so much, especially my writing and my perception of the world. I am glad to have shared this with all of you. Also this story is loosely based on Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov so if you haven't read it please do!! 
> 
> Without all of you this would not have been possible so thank you! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed! To Iloveyousunshine for taking over as my beta. You rock! Also to Theblackroom, Seta_Katie and many many more! 
> 
> The epilogue will be told from Daryl's POV :) Yes, I haven't forgotten about that. I'm not sure who is still interested in a sequel so please let me know! 
> 
>  
> 
> Thoughts?


	28. Epilogue

_~*~_

_Epilogue_

_~*~_  

Dear Rick,

This is the end of the book, the last page and final thought. To summarize everything, filter it out and bring it into words seems almost impossible because there are no words. No phrases or expressions to distinctly define the magnitude of his feelings.

So he acts cowardly.

Abandoning the one person who truly gave a damn about him. The only person who cared enough to save him from Joe and himself. He’ll never forget that, being pulled from one hell and being thrown into the next.

Daryl will always remember, no matter how badly his body withers and fades, Rick will be the constant thing that remains.

The harsh words he said play on a loop in his mind, if he could he would swallow them back and choke on them. Daryl recalls the look of pure torment that crossed Rick’s face and how it sliced up his insides.

Daryl will never tell Rick that afterwards, he calmly walked out of the prison, he got _mayb_ e five miles before wrenching violently at the side of the road. Sputtering, hacking, puking large chunks of green viscous bile into the dirt.

The lies turned his stomach, before eventually erupting from his esophagus.

Then his knees gave out, a wail tore open his throat and pierced his ear drums. Daryl doesn’t remember how long he sobbed, but when it was all over it was well after dark. The shadows on the trees had grown long, the sun was sinking west.

A part of him wanted to stay out there forever. Just to be close to Rick, just to know if the man was okay. It’s a silly thought, foolish and nonsensical.

Rick probably hates him.

Why shouldn’t he? Daryl has proven to be a— _downright dirty_ _disgusting diseased fucking slut_. Even worse he’s the town dumping ground. If Rick knew how many man he had slept with, how many cocks he’s had inside him, pounding him senseless.

The scars on his back only told half the tale.

After awhile the stench of urine and vomit became unbearable so he stands up, and eventually makes his way back into town, towards the motel off highway 95.

Daryl recollects walking into Byromville Georgia with his head held high, vomit on his shirt, face pale, body shaking, tears falling down his cheeks, urine cooling on his pants. At least he stayed true to Dixon fashion.

 _Panic attacks_ —the shrink Denise had called them. Whatever they were they came abruptly, swift and strident, turning him into a mumbling mess. They made his vision blur, mind jumping from one horrific incident to the next.

A part of him will remain back at the prison with Rick. Behind the thick prison glass wall he destroyed Rick, with cool neutrality and stiff indifference, he managed to cut open Rick’s heart and spit all over it.

When it was all over they were both in pieces.

Daryl said hello and goodbye, simultaneously in one visit. There was no turning back, no rewinding time and complex mathematical machines to hop into.

There was only one thing that was very clear: they would never see each other again.

~

Merle knew about the prostitution.

“You’ll need to get back to work soon enough.”

Is the first thing his brother says by way of greeting. Merle aged, not particularly well, thinning hairline and deeper wrinkles, double barreled chest. They fall back into the same routine, which starts with Merle talking and Daryl listening.

It’s a week before they run out of money.

Whatever funds Deanna sent them to make them go away and go away quickly dried up long ago. Merle is a monster that needs to be fed, he’d huff and puff, blowing smoke and snarling until he got another hit.

Len comes over.

Daryl lays on the bed, pants below his ankles, shirt riding up while Len crawls on top of him. Those slimy hands fist his hair roughly while he breathes dragon fire down his neck. “Ain’t that right slut? Back fo’ more?”

“Easy on the merchandise,” Merle grunts from his position on the couch. “He’s got fifteen more clients to go.”

Fifteen and Len doesn't try to be gentle.

The number itself isn’t usual. Hell, when he was with Joe he had at least double that amount a night. Men would come from all over to fuck him silly and for a while he enjoyed it, especially the money.

Now, it seems hollow, worse than that it feels like betrayal. The thought alone makes his eyes sting fiercely and his stomach turn. All he can see are kind glacier eyes, gentle touches, warm embraces, ice-cream on hot summer days.

 _You matter_ , Rick had whispered. _You matter_.

Daryl escapes deep into his subconscious and doesn’t resurface for days.

~

“He don’t look too good.” A man says from the corner.

“Darylina just needs another hit is all,” Merle rasps with a harsh laugh, however there is a hardness in his eyes.

Daryl is on the bed, face covered in a thin sheen of sweat, body mattered with all kinds of bruises, shirt plastered to his skin. His eyes are a pale, faded emeralds, along with his ashen face.

“Nah man,” The stranger continues. “He ain’t even moanin’ or nothin’...it’s like fuckin’ a dead fish. I want my money back.”

“No refunds.” Merle spits. “Whatcha think this is? McDonalds? Ya want a fuckin’ refund? Ha! Get the fuck out.”

The man scurries out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Merle curses loudly, advancing toward Daryl. “What the fuck man? Ya, can’t even make a noise or somethin’? Them payin’ customers want their money’s worth. What do ya think will happen if he goes runnin’ his fuckin’ mouth?”

Daryl makes a pitiful sounds at the back of his throat. _Fuck_ —he’s in so much pain he can barely move his arms.

“Merle…I can’t...” He gasps, feeling his throat constrict.

It’s been four days of non-stop customers. One right after the next, so many men and no time to recuperate. Merle’s face softens. “Alright….okay…..I ain’t thinkin’ properly….let’s get ya cleaned up…”

After a moment Merle disappears into the bathroom turning on the water to run a bath. He comes back, helps Daryl out of his clothing and into the bathroom. Merle lingers on the toilet seat, smoking a cigarette while Daryl soaks.

“Ya know….” Merle says after a while. “I didn’t want to sell ya to Joe….I didn’t want to do that.”

“I know.” He doesn’t.

But he learned a long time ago that some things in this world would never make sense. Like why his older brother sold him to a pimp, so that he could be used and abused. Or why Merle disappeared right after, never even came back to make sure he was okay.

That story he told Rick, was just a story.

Joe had raped him, repeatedly. Somewhere along the line he started to enjoy it, who knows. Who cares. He’s already fallen into the abyss.

Daryl used to agonized over it, wonder why he was so worthless that his brother left him behind.

Now it doesn’t matter. Merle is back, he’s here. Whatever that means and they are somewhat a dysfunctional family again.

He’s a whore, that’s all he’ll ever be, but now he has Merle and no matter what, they are family.

 _You matter_. Goddamn Rick for thinking otherwise.

“Survival of the fittest,” Merle mumbles. “We’ll lay low for a few days….letcha get back on yer feet then we’ll be on the move once we got enough dough.”

That’s it. No apology, no words of condolences and pleads for absolution. Not that he was expecting any of it, but it’s nice to dream.

~

“Nah, that ain’t right... I had six of them so that times eighteen would give me ninety-two…” Merle frowns, trying to count on his hands.

The shopkeeper rolls his eyes as he fiddles with the pipe he’s cleaning. One of the tires of Merle’s truck blew out yesterday so they went to the nearest auto shop they could find. The only auto shop in town was owned by Dale, until his untimely death it was taken over by new management. 

“One hundred and eight,” Daryl replies automatically, fiddling with one of the magazines.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Merle sneers. “Yer dumbass can’t count.”

“No,” The shopkeeper says. “The kids right. Put the money on the table.”

Merle grumbles something before slamming the money on the table. The shopkeeper snatches the money and disappears, then he comes back with a receipt.

“S’all fixed now. Ya should look into changing the serpentine belt soon.”

“Yeah,” Merle grunts. “Whatever.”

~ 

 _Remember him for what he was, not what he is_.

Daryl wants to take it all back, rewind time and whatnot. The minute he steps through the shitty motel door he knows that something is wrong. Merle is oddly quiet, barely glancing up when he enters the room.

It’s tidy for once, old pizza boxes, garbage cleared away. The room looks almost like it did when they first rented it, almost. Only the smell remains, the Dixon rank that permeates the air; cigarette smoke, decay, sex and worst of all resentment.

“We’re leavin’.” Merle announces.

Although Daryl already knew that, it still doesn’t stop his heart from plummeting.

“I’m sick of this one-horse town.”

Daryl shrugs off his jacket. “Why not stay a few more days? I can make more money here. I’ve got a decent client list, ain’t nobody gonna give us shit if we leave….”

Merle laughs. “Yer ass can get just as much money elsewhere boy, don’t need to plant roots here.”

“Yeah, but—” Rick is here.

“But nothin’ we’re leavin’ as soon as possible. I’m gonna pick up the truck, then we’ll be on our way to sunny California, where the woman are half naked and booze is cheap.”

Merle leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.

~

Daryl smokes, then chokes on the image of Dale flashing before his eyes.

The trip to the auto shop brought back some bad memories. Particularly ones of sweet, simple Dale who had the most unfortunate accident of realizing the truth behind his relationship with Joe. Daryl shudders when he thinks about it.

How Dale had stumbled upon them looking for Merle.

Joe with his pants around his ankles, furiously jacking himself off as he cut, slow methodical strokes into Daryl’s back. He recalls how blood stained the carpet, and Joe as he lathered himself in it, as if it were mulberry silk.

Dale stood ramrod straight at the door with shock and the twist of scornful disgust on his face. There were swift words between Joe and Dale, foul words, mixed with aberration and lastly the threat of prison.

Dale was found dead the next day. 

No murder weapon they said, no motive or eye-witnesses. Daryl knew all of this, some might say he was an accessory to murder. The first day he met Rick in the interrogation room he knew they would never find the body.

Not that he knew where it was.

Everything about Dale’s murder died with Joe. Mission complete, justice served. Or so it would seem. Daryl doesn’t think about it much anymore. He banishes all thoughts of Joe and Dale into some black hole in his mind never to be reached again.

He doesn’t think about how Dale could have saved him or how he prayed so hard and long for it, only for the man to come up dead. Those thoughts are useless.

He’s safe now, being consumed by hell-fire.

~

Daryl calls in a favour.

His hands shake as he dials the number. When the person picks up, his stomach rolls over but he pushes through and they make arrangements to meet. At five thirty the sun has set and the roads are completely dark. Winter is right around the corner, he can feel it with the chill in the air.

Summer is long gone.

Daryl lights a cigarette, watching the shadow creep closer until the hulking man is right beside him. The moon was out, wide and illuminating the stars up above.  Daryl stares at the sky, wishing that he was a bird or some other winged creature so that he could fly away.

“Ya don’t have to go with him,” The voice says beside him.

Shane looks different now, more calm, less volatile than when they first met several years ago. Before the steady stream of clients, the endless nights of lying on his back there was Shane. Not his foe, almost certainly not his friend but something strange in between.

 _Whores in moonlight_. Shane would laugh, since he concluded they were both whores for different reasons. Daryl by necessity and Shane by duty, either way they both got _fucked_.

Daryl is quiet for a long time.

Thoughts bouncing around in his head. Shane protected him all the years from going to jail, looked the other way when he conducted business, didn’t interfere, didn’t even bat an eye at Joe as long as they kept a respectful distance.

They had a deal.

Daryl conducting business and Shane pretended not to notice.

Then Rick came along and destroyed everything. If it ever came to light that Shane _knew_ Daryl was an under-aged prostitute, even aided him at times, things would get ugly. For a long time Shane didn’t know they were fucking. He was under the impression, like everybody else that Rick was just doing his job. Although he had his speculations, he just needed the right amount of evidence to throw Rick under the bus.

That’s why Shane asked for the rape test.

 _Self-preservation_. Shane had said. So he schemed and calculated his way out of it. Since Rick was emotional by disposition it was easier to slither out of the limelight. In another life….things would be different, they might’ve gotten along or even been friends at some point. Then again he could never trust a man like Shane.

A man that could peel the flesh off his bones with tweezers.

“Why did ya do that to him?” Daryl asks and finds that his voice is coarse and melonalony. “Why did ya have to hurt him like that?”

“We both hurt him,” Shane responds. “In our own way.”

Daryl turns to scrutinize him. “You’re his brother.”

“You’re his lover.”

“He’ll forget me,” Daryl sneers.

“He won’t,” Shane sighs. “It’s done. All charges have been dropped, officially as of today he’s a free man.”

“You knew he would be acquitted?” Daryl exclaims.

“Of course I didn’t,” Shane growls. “It was a gamble, but you can’t underestimate the power being an upstanding citizen, too many people on the force were willing to vouch for Rick. If I tried to stand with him, as his brother, they would rip me apart. They would think I was lying, trying to cover things up for a friend. I had to be against him, for his own good. The prosecution had no _fuckin’_ ground to stand on.”

Pretty lies, that's all Shane was saying. 

“So you betrayed him?” Daryl snaps. “So you attacked him?”

“Oh, _fuck off_  with that shit. I have my reasons just like you have yours.” Shane huffs. “It worked out didn’t it?”

“That’s all that matters right?” Daryl sneers, shaking his head.

“What else do ya want? Huh? He’s been acquitted of all charges, Lori signed the divorce papers, once he wakes up from the coma he’ll make a full recovery. There’s nothin’ left for ya here.”

 _There’s Rick_. He wants to scream, but clenches his teeth instead. Daryl knows he has to go, leave this horrible nightmare behind but he can’t leave until he knows Rick will be safe.

Suddenly he feels his heart leaping from his rib cage, like it’s beating on the outside. Daryl doesn’t do emotions, affections, none of that shit appeals to him. Yet, the thought of leaving without Rick knowing the absolute truth turns his stomach violently.

“Tell him,” Daryl swallows, feeling hysteria build with each breathe. “Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him that I love him and that I’ll be back! I swear I’ll be back and that he’s safe now! Nobody will hurt him! _Please_!”

He’s crying, worse than that, he’s openly weeping to a man he loathes.

Shane looks at him coldly. “You know I can’t do that.”

“But—”

“He would leave his family for you,” Shane barks, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The asshole would walk out on them and tear up the earth to try and find you. Despite being the bastard that I am I know those kids need their father, hell I fuckin’ need him and I betrayed him to save myself.”

Daryl presses his lips together, tears trailing down his cheeks. “Alright,” he says mostly to himself. “Alright, sorry stupid thing to say. How foolish.”

Shane gives him a sad smile.

“In another life….” Shane stretches out his hand.

“In another life….” Daryl shakes it briefly.

The wind blows, tears harden on his skin. He wipes them away as he watches Shane disappear into the night.

~

The whore and the junkie, one last ride.

Cool crisp air greets them, as well as the sun just gilding over the horizon. There are no-more goodbyes to be said, no more tears to cry. The childish dreams and wistful mind all lost, now he fixates on the future and the path that lays before him.

His time in Byromville Georgia has come to an end.

 _Rick_ —his love, his life, forever gone. Not much more to be said about it. So he steals his nerves, straightens his back, preparing for the wars to come. The dead are walking, the walking dead, they're all the same. Kill them before they kill us. 

The truck is packed, a few garbage bags of clothing thrown in the back, along with Joe’s old bike. _When ya have nothin’, there is nothin’ to pack_. Merle had joked. Sad, but no less true.

Daryl has always been bountiful with nothing.

“Ready?” Merle asks, revving up the engine.

Ready.

As they speed towards the sun Daryl concludes that life is an unfettered howl, like the call to arms, soldiers standing in formation awaiting death’s gentle touch.

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream as it tears through his throat, just exhale, shudder and release life’s rapture.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * That's it folks :)


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